


Within Four Stone Walls

by JeromeSankara



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Bottom Daryl Dixon, Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes Feels, Forced Abortion, Forced Pregnancy, Forced Relationship, Heavy Angst, Implied Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, Little Asskicker, M/M, Mpreg, Negan (Walking Dead) Being an Asshole, Please Don't Kill Me, Possessive Negan (Walking Dead), Rape, Rickyl Writers' Group, Starvation, Top Rick, Unplanned Pregnancy, dying, mpreg!Daryl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2018-10-09 23:58:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10424724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeromeSankara/pseuds/JeromeSankara
Summary: There's no light. No outside. No air. There's only the darkness of the walls, the split second of a chance of freedom, only for the door to cruelly close him back in. A shadow of a man is forced to wait and hope that they do not discover his secret. He hoped for Rick to be safe, for Maggie to be safe, that... she will be safe. That's all hope. He still doesn't know when his next meal will come, when the door opens, or if rescue will ever come for him. But all he knows for sure are these four stone walls trapped him just like his secret.





	1. The First Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bennyhatter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/gifts).



> Gonna say this right now: This is gonna be a rollercoaster of stuff n thangs. Please, if you do not like mpreg, please don't read. It's the first tag for a reason.
> 
> -J

The blood that had covered his body was beginning to cool, plastering to a quivering body. The binds that held him tightly was also splattered the liquid; he could feel the cooling drops against his wrists, ankles, and felt the iron taste in his mouth. The gag tasted more like dirty socks just pulled out of the swamp, and the smell alone made him close to gagging, quite strange especially when he was known to gut twitching deers without so much as a blink.

The black blindfold didn't really have to be there, not as his eyes were screwed tightly shut as if he was chasing away the visions of what he had just witnessed. His tears was making the fabric wet, further clinging to his slick skin. His teeth grinded against the gag, only to receive a smack to the side of the head and the command to stop. He could barely help it, though. They hadn't just had their entire life deflated within a night. They hadn't watched close friends being smashed to pieces. They didn't cause the death of someone who had so much to live for...

They didn't watch Rick fall to pieces before him, commanded and conquered by a man that showed no mercy.

His thoughts were jerked out of place by the movement of the vehicle he was still stuffed away inside, being unprepared to steady himself as his shoulder once again bashed against the blood-coated wall, barely able to let out a grunt of pain any longer. They grunted to each other, arguing to who was the one who was supposed to keep him from rolling around, as they didn't want him to die on the way over.

Already he felt the fresh blood split out of the dried crust of the wound, dripping down his chest and his scarred back. He was already losing too much blood, and every drop made his chest grow tighter and his anxiety rose. How much farther were they going... Or was this all just to make sure no one heard the sound of his death.

He may end up dying in the back of this truck, in constant pain, constant anguish, and constant fear. For the first time in his life since the apocalypse began, Daryl Dixon was at the mercy of someone else.

A piercing pain in his other shoulder took him by surprise, and instinct managed to kick in just for a moment as he blindly tried to shove his body weight towards whoever had pierced him, but hands had already grabbed him and held him steady, and his efforts resorted in nothing more than a whine of pain, of all things.

"Settle down, Negan's gonna take real good care of yah," was the wicked chuckle in his ear, dripping with poison and the knowledge of what lied ahead. Almost right after those words, the hunter felt the world begin to sway about him, and the pain was fading into coldness. Panic rushed into his body to fight against the sensation, but that soon turned into an odd calmness, almost acceptance.

This wasn't how he wanted to die. He needed to see Rick. Maggie. Hell, he just wanted to see home... There was still too much he had to do, and he couldn't die now. He couldn't just lay down and die when he had so much to fight for.

But in the end, that was exactly what he did. His broad shoulders began to sag, pressing against the unforgiving metal along with his side. His head slowly lulled down, and he could feel his greasy hair falling as if to cover his face of the pain that twisted it. For the first time in his life... He didn't want to die...

He didn't want to die...

* * *

Agonizing burning was the next thing he felt, as if his shoulder was being stabbed with white hot iron pokers. The body jolted, and muscles groaned with the sensation of being moved after being cramped together for so long. Cold floor was the only sensation beside the burning, but it did nothing to soothe it.

Daryl hissed in soft pain, even as his heart twisted to give such obvious weakness. His fingers grasped through the darkness as if searching for his own body that was no longer a part of him, only to finally find his own flesh. Only then was he aware of the raw burning tight around his wrists and ankles, but they were no longer bound. The gag was out of his mouth, and there was nothing to cover his eyes.

Two things came through his mind at once. Where was he, and where was Rick.

Not even the blistering pain managed to keep the hunter from scrambling to his feet, almost to nearly collapse as the floor felt as if it had fallen out from under him. The drugs, whatever they had put in him... They were doing a damn good job of making him look like an idiot. His cheek was pressed into the stone and his head rattled with the soft collision and throbbed. Even that little movement made every part of his body scream for surrender.

As he listened to the throbbing of his own blood pulsing through his ears, he realized something.

He couldn't see.

Everything was black, darker than the darkest night with no moon. Darker than the closet he hid himself when Pa got mad. Darker than any parts of his mind allowed him to go. Darker than the horror that managed to sweep into his body.

Immediately his hands swarmed to his face, and he was relieved to find that he had nearly poked out his own eyes with the sudden frantic pace. He still had them... He couldn't feel any scratches, gouges or burns on his face, so he wasn't blinded by any weapon. But he needed to find a light, any light, anything to chase away the darkness.

His body managed to move again, and his head continued to protest harshly, but he was determined to find where he was. He wasn't outside, as there was no sound of wind, birds, nothing. It was too cold, too, as his entire body felt chilled to the touch. His flailing hands finally felt purchase against a flat surface, standing straight up, and he soon approved that it was indeed a wall. Keeping his fingers grazing across the surface as if to not become lost, he began to slowly walk, or as much as he could without his head practically drowning itself in pain and dizziness.

There was one wall. Then another. His fingers were caressing against the third as a cold chill began to curl up his spine. There was an echo, but sharp. There wasn't much room between the first three walls. Dread pooled within him as his outstretched hand came in contact with the final wall, and his entire exploration only took seconds.

He was trapped. There was nothing on the ground, nothing on the walls... There was no light, no sound... His imprisonment was within walls so small he didn't know if he could even lay down within its confines.

The deafness of his discovery made him nearly beg for something to make a noise, but he couldn't bring himself to utter a sound, as if the darkness would swallow him whole if he dared to disturb it.

It was only when the wall seemed to disappear beneath his fingertips on the fourth wall that he allowed some kind of hope. He flocked to the lack of wall, as if it was some kind of passage, only to slam face first into what seemed like... another wall. The hard protrusion he had nearly broken his hip with told him that this was not actually a wall, but a door.

A door. Freedom.

But no hope fluttered in his chest, only the growing sense of doom as his quivering large hands found the round knob and violently pulled, push, turned and yanked, yet he could barely feel the knob even move. It was locked, further confirming that he wouldn't be leaving this place anytime soon.

There he stood at the door, the cold knob still within his trembling hands. He stood cold, wet with what he eventually realized was his own blood from his wound on his shoulder, and trapped. He'd later realize that he was naked, something that took longer than any would think of noticing.

The man stood in that spot for what felt like hours, only to numbly begin to walk against the wall, mumbling and counting steps to the length of each wall. He turned and repeated to the next wall, then the next, and the next... Walking in circles while his mind remained blank. This continued until exhaustion had finally made his legs collapse beneath him, cringing as he hit the ground onto his stomach. Instinctually, his arms pulled tight against his torso, his teeth grimacing. No, he couldn't let anything touch it. Not even the floor. He rolled onto his side, trembling with a wave of emotions that were still swirling throughout his body, yet there was still no words.

Pain, fear, anxiety, worry, dread, rinse and repeat.

Pain, fear, anxiety, worry, dread. Rinse and repeat.

Pain.

His shoulder was on fire.

Fear.

He didn't know where he was or what would happen to him.

Anxiety.

There was no way that this could lead to anything good.

Worry.

Was Rick okay? Was he okay? Was anyone okay?

Dread.

He was alone. He had nothing to protect himself. Nothing to cling to, nothing to give him comfort... Except for...

His arms tightened, his body flinching in realization. No, he wasn't alone. Not yet.

And he would rather die than to be truly alone again.


	2. Eat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eat, Daryl. You need to keep your strength to fight.

Nine steps by four steps. Eleven or twelve steps diagonal. He thinks. Lost track.

His forehead is aching from the times he managed to ram himself against the wall in his nearly silent pacing. The circles help him think, help him gain a grasp on what was happening to him. His shoulder is reduced to a throbbing pulse along with his heartbeat, but no longer bleeds. Unless of course he collapses dead on his feet like the last six times.

Daryl didn't even know why he was walking around so endlessly that he fears he will leave rut in the stone. He had ran his fingers against every slight crack, crevasse, split and knot in the wall. He had already felt down the entire door, top to bottom, for any crack to work his way out, but even the bottom was sealed off, probably having something blocking it on the other side like more stone. 

Unsurprisingly, it's cold. There are times that he just sits in the corner and huddles up for warmth. Other times he tries to soak up the heat at the other side of the door.

That's when he would hear the footsteps. The whispers. The grumbles and yells. As if he had any doubt before, he knew that he was surrounded by the Saviors. The very thought made his hair stand on end on the back of his neck, cringing up whenever one stepped past the door. Every now and then someone would pause, stop before his door, before letting out a series of whistles. Like an upbeat tune.

_Do do dee doot doot_

_Do do deeee doot doot_

_Do do deee doot do do do_

_Do do do_

_Dee Dee Dee_

Well maybe it wasn't all whistles. There would be hums too. Apparently you didn't have to be able to whistle to be a Savior.

The tune had stirred him awake again from his sleeping corner, opening his eyes to black. Daryl still wasn't sure if he was blind or if it was dark, but he had a feeling he wouldn't find out. Not if they continued to keep him locked in here. In near silence, his stiffened body began to peel itself off of the only warm spot in the room, wincing from the loss. Daryl wasn't one who needed the comforts of a warm bed, but sleeping on stone... Not even on grass or even hay, just stone.

Even sleeping in a tree hadn't been this bad, but he didn't have too much choice. Hiding from Pa and all.

Not much of a choice now, not as his fingers felt across the ground, barely moving up to his hands and knees at this point. It took longer to find it than he thought, making his heart clench up in his throat until he felt the cold liquid.

He had been in too much of a panic the first time to realize that there was a leak in the roof. Or a pipe, not like he could check. It was his source of water in slow drips from the ceiling. Carefully, his calloused hands cupped, attempting to catch the water droplets, but just when he managed to find the drops, it would slip through his fingers.

A growl rumbled in his chest, even if tired and aching. They wanted him to lap it up like a dog... No, he wasn't that desperate yet.

Daryl had grown relatively calmer in the past... however long its been since he first got here. Knowing that there was no escape, he had realized it was no use wasting his energy. Instead, he would use the time to think, to conserve his energy to keep from growing hungrier than normal.

Damn he wished he had one of those granola whatevers from Denise-

...Denise.

A hard lump grew in his throat that he wasn't able to swallow down, even as he licked away the water that remained on his fingers. He could taste his own blood crusting on his nails as well as the dirt, but also the disgusting taste the water held by itself.

Chances are this shit is from a fucking toilet. Would be his luck.

But the taste couldn't distract him from the dread that was filling his empty stomach. Denise... Right when he fucking needed her, she gets an arrow to the head. She promised that she would help, and that she would be there for when he'd have to tell Rick...

Now she was dead. Because why would he be allowed to have nothing in his life. Didn't have Ma, Merle, Beth, Hershel... Glenn... Try as he might, he couldn't swallow down the ache not coming from his shoulder. Loss was always a part of being a Dixon. Didn't deserve nothing good. Was about time that it all came crashing down again.

After a few licks of water, he was already starting to feel the brunt of the cold. The hunter retreated back to his corner, grumbling at the heat that was now gone. Rick was always such a damn furnace... Didn't think he'd ever sleep cold again.

Well fuck it.

But of course right when he began to curl himself up with his back against the stone, here came the footsteps again. His body practically bristled as his arms curled defensively around his stomach, staring to where he guessed the door would be. His hands kneaded into his sides, flexing and ready to move if needed. There was the sound of grating, stone against stone, and it wasn't until there was a pinprick of light that he realized they were unblocking the door.

Someone was coming in.

But while he was prepared for someone to open the door, he wasn't prepared for the practically blinding light that poured its way in.

The arms tucked around his sides immediately covered his eyes as he gave a startled hiss. It was as if his eyeballs were being scorched out of his head, leading to the idle thought that he must have been in the room a lot longer than he had anticipated. His body faintly shuddered on the ground as he tried to adjust to the light, only hearing that the door had been pushed open completely.

"...Shut up and eat."

The voice alone forced any sign of weakness to be pushed back, only to squint against the light. The outline of a man managed to stand out against the light, almost a glow. But his teeth clamped shut, a low growl rumbling as he managed to focus onto the horrid scar that still looked fresh on his shit-eating face, and the sillohuette of  _his_ crossbow hoisted over his shoulder. The same one he used to murder Denise in cold blood. The same he had pointed to his head threatening to spill his blood.

Any retort that tried to come out of his mouth was replaced with a rasp that didn't even sound like his own voice, worse than any amount of smokes he had inhaled at once. This obviously seemed to both amuse and frustrate his captor, yet made no motion towards him.

Instead, his still burning eyes managed to catch sight of something being held out to him. It looked like a ball of something. It was wet, and it  _reeked_ of rot. Whatever it was, it was soon dropped before him and make a sickening sloppy noise when it hit the ground.

"Eat," the gruff voice spoke again, his shoe nearly prodding the mess that was now on the ground. Of course they would expect him to eat slop... But it seemed like they intended to keep him alive.

His eyes flicked from the unfamiliar mass on the ground to the captor, then down again. This didn't appear to please the man as he gave a groan, only to start to move.

A strong hand grabbed onto his chin that had been resting onto the floor, instead practically yanking his head off his shoulders to look at his ugly mug.

"You should be on your knees groveling for what Negan is doing. If it was up to me, I'd have your brains splattered right fucking now. If I come back and you haven't eaten what Negan provided for you, I will slam that shit down your throat."

His head was thrown back to the ground, smacking against his temple hard enough for his head to ring. The form of his captor split into two and swirled in his eyesight, but he wasn't staying to make sure that the hunter ate the slop. Instead, he was already out the door, cursing under his breath before slamming the door behind him in a noise so loud it made the floor vibrate.

The lock clicked. Then the stone was shoved. It blocked out the only light on the floor, and cloaked him once again in darkness. Now it was only him, a nine by four foot cell, and whatever the fuck that was on the floor. The smell alone made him wish to gag, but that wasn't anything new. Every scent was bothering him. Bout threw up gutting a deer. He was already sick of this.

He stared at the ground where he was sure the 'food' still sat, as if at any moment it would either attack or slither away. The only sound was his own quiet, if not a little ragged, breathing and the drops of water falling into the center of the floor.

His stomach was heaving now and then, and the familiar ache in its pit wasn't moving. He hadn't eaten in a while. However long a while is. And he knew better than to let his own pride get in the way of not eating and not giving his body something to chew on. Had to keep them fed...

Fingers slowly reached forward and prodded into the wet substance. It was a mixture of chunks all slopped together, managing to stick by who knows what. If it was poisoned, he was about to find out. Didn't make much sense to kill him this way, instead of making him starve... Would be more painful, take longer, and they'd think they could make him beg for food.

No, he was already accepting this fate, whatever it was. He just had to hold out, just long enough for someone to find him. Rick had to be looking for him by now. They'd be back.

They wouldn't leave him... unless they blamed him for Glenn. Wouldn't be wrong either, he wouldn't blame them.

His thoughts quietly circled around his fate as he grasped the slop, as much as he could between his slightly trembling fingers, before pushing it into his mouth before he had a chance to stop himself. He tried not to taste it, tried to swallow it down as soon as it hit his tongue, but already he knew this would be a struggle...

Not as moments later, he began to gag, and his body decided that this just wouldn't do, instead deciding to splatter it back out. Great.

Now he needed a new sleeping corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This isn't dog food! Just... whatever they scraped out of the bottom of some jars or something. Use your imagination. It's probably worse than that if Daryl can handle anything else he eats just fine.


	3. Haze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl is on the verge of dying, and Negan just can't let his work go to waste. What the hunter didn't expect was the sudden opportunity to give safety to the ones he loved.

The cell was split into five sections.

Top left, Daryl slept. It was the farthest away from the door.

Top right gave him a sliver of light from underneath the door at times, the cement block not quite blocking the way, as if it was just to give a slight amount of air every now and then. He would watch the light disappear and reappear with whoever passed by the door.

Bottom left, he shit and pissed. Didn't even have the decency to give him a fucking bucket. Hed probably use it for the water anyway.

Bottom right, the one closest to the door, was to eat. And to vomit. He couldn't keep the gruel down as hard as he tried.

And in the center was the puddle of liquid, with quiet drips every now and then. Sometimes it would stop, leaving the puddle to drain down to the heaps of vomit then finally slip out from underneath the door. It was just at a slight angle enough to flee from him.

Ice blue eyes gazed across the soft shine of the fresh vomit, mostly being whatever fluid he managed to hold down and a few chunks of slop. He didn't even attempt anymore... It was taking his strength to try to slam it down his throat, only to drain more to vomit it back up.

It had been easier to handle back in Alexandria. Denise gave him pills, but had the nerve to shove an IV into him the first time he fainted while on watch. That was fucking embarrassing. Didn't even want to think about it... Rick had been worried out of his mind, probably scared half the town with his screaming.

God he knew he's a bit of a screamer but for fuck's sake...

He gave a huff, curling his body with his back against the stone. It was a force of habit, to make sure no one could get behind him. It also hid his scars, burning so deep that he still felt them throb at times. But none of that was as bad as his shoulder.

Daryl knew it was infected. Had managed to get a bit of the light onto his shoulder to finally look at it. Shit looked nasty. Had puss leaking out, all red and puffy. If he had his clothes, he'd bandage it up but instead he was just stuck with his back to the wall, awkwardly touching his shoulder to wall now and then for the cold stone to ice away the burning pain. Yeah, it was infected. Probably would end up killing him.

What a way to go...

His consciousness must have slipped from him now and then, as he suddenly was awakened by his shoulder flaring in pain, almost as if someone had pushed an iron into it. Any noise he made in pain was turned into a croak, even as his body jerked to fight away from whatever had touched him.

"The hell is wrong with you? Why won't you eat?!"

Ah. His favorite visitor.

His eyes cracked open slowly, wincing immediately to the sudden light. But his vision cleared a little easier than last time, staring into the ugly scars over Dwight's face. Asshole still had his jacket. He better not have even scratched it, better not have an ounce of walker blood he didn't smear in himself. Hell, he better not have even washed the damn thing.

Got memories in those stains.

What confused the weary hunter was the frown across his face, his brows furrowed together and his eyes narrowed. Like he was generally confused.

By now, Daryl had already learned that fighting back only wasted the energy he needed to survive, but it didn't take energy to growl, baring his teeth in a sign of defiance. He wouldn't be broken by a bit of starvation. If it had been that easy, Pa would have killed him off years ago.

His body was dropped in partial disgust and curiosity, and even as Daryl cringed at the coldness, he did nothing. Whether he liked it or not, he had to be defensive. He couldn't give the first blow or he would be taken down. Had to keep protecting them if nothing else.

Another voice came in, or rather the whistle. He recognized the tone and squeezed his eyes shut. The hunter wanted nothing more than to be alone so that he could rest and hopefully try to eat again and have some water. He didn't wish to be bothered at this state.

"Dwighty-boy, I thought you were going to take care of our guest? Don't remember telling you to grope him."

Ugh, couldn't they take this shit somewhere else? Make out or some shit? Just to leave him alone to rest?

"Think something's wrong with him. Think he's worth patching up?"

"Well I don't want him turning anytime soon..."

There was an attempt to grab onto his arm, as if he was simply refusing to get up. Dwight proved that he was a scrawny piece of shit by barely even lifting him before dropping again, managing to knock his head against the stone. Damn, he had been doing that enough to himself. He didn't need help.

There were more words, probably at his expense, until arms once again lifted him, this time managing to get an actual hold. If he had any decency, he may have been a bit upset to have his body being dragged out in the open while completely nude. He didn't want them to see his wound, his ribs that he knew were starting to push against his skin. He wasn't quite sure how long it would take to drain his weight so fast, as he had no idea of time or day. Could have been a day, week, a month? He hoped not a month. He needed as much time as he could to go unnoticed.

If he cared enough to pay attention, he would have felt himself being carried down a hall, taken a left, then a right, then another left. Then he was laid down almost delicately to some bench or table. After another pinch in his shoulder, the world had faded away once again.

* * *

 

Daryl had never been under anesthetic before. He had been in a hospital before, but usually Merle would break him out before they had the chance to do anything to him. Merle had told him that they would do horrible things to him because of what Pa had done to him, that they would put Merle in jail and blame him... He had never thought his brother would lie just to make sure Merle wasn't taking the beating alone.

Broken bones were tended to by Merle after Ma died. Concussions were just called headaches and just had to lay down until the spinning stopped. It was a miracle that he was still alive without losing a couple limbs because of infection. Perhaps its the only reason he had made it so far in the apocalypse.

He never knew that he would dream under anesthetic, though. He always thought it was a fog like what Merle told him when he smoked pot. Just wandering through fog...

Daryl wouldn't be ashamed to say that he dreamed about Rick. Nah, he practically obsessed over him when he slept. But he hadn't expected a happy dream. Most of the time, he was crouched over his bloodied body, snarling at him to get up and fight, but he never did. Once, he almost did. Almost. But he slipped out of his arms and collapsed into the pool of his own blood.

This time, though...

This time was different, and it was the only happiness he had felt in a very long time.

_"You know I'm supposed to be the pregnant one, right?"_

_A particularly bored expression crossed the hunter, barely peaking out from the pillow he had collapsed again last night and simply had no wish to get up. He was pregnant, he should be allowed to be lazy._

_He shouldn't have to deal with a constantly puking lover._

_Another retching sound followed by more of Rick's stomach contents falling into the toilet. That man should be damn lucky they had working plumbing at this point. Daryl just used a bucket when he needed to and dumped it out, but nooooo. Rick had to dirty the toilet._

_Denise had a word for this. Sympathy pregnancy. It had sounded a little endearing at first, having the father suffer along with the pregnancy, but now Rick was acting like he was dying. It was getting old and fast. Daryl shouldn't have to comfort the father of his baby while he was still lugging it around._

_But unfortunately that was exactly what he was doing..._

_Swollen ankles and all, Daryl had slowly pulled himself out of bed and stretched. His old poncho was tucked around his body, now practically a blanket and a way to hide the ever growing stomach. Thankfully he didn't have to wait much longer, maybe another month?_

_Calloused hands rubbed against the rough fabric of the poncho, and huffed another sigh. He needed to take a piss and Rick was still puking, but he couldn't help but smirk. Rick may as well suffer until the end of the pregnancy, maybe a little more if labor is a pain in the ass like Maggie kept saying it was._

_But damn, that little boy of hers was a button. Said it was all worth it, and he couldn't help but hope for the same. His little Squirrel was going to be damn beautiful._

_His steps were plops rather than his natural stealth, but it just made sure Rick wouldn't upchuck on him because he spooked the sheriff. Said sheriff had puked up a bit more at this rate, and now had his forehead against the porcelain, probably in the middle of extreme prayer and begging._

_'It's just morning sickness, it's natural.' Yeah, Rick. It's natural. Get over yourself._

_The sheriff was given a half hearted comforting pat onto the shoulder, as if it would help, but then worked to pull the thick curls back. It was getting in his damn beard, masking the peppered appearance with whatever the hell he ate last night. Looked nasty, like spaghetti sauce. Probably dug into the fridge for his leftovers of whatever combination felt good a the time._

_The hair was slightly damp, probably from sweat. It clung to his forehead in a way that reminded Daryl of every fight they took that ended in exhaustion but victory, and this was just another battle for the both of them. Just a little bit longer._

_"C'mon, Rick. Got some crackers. Then I'll rub your feet," Daryl teased, remembering the same offer not long after Rick had found out. All this time the sheriff just continued to think that Daryl was dying... Actually, the hunter had been the same way up until Denise drilled it into his head and had a sonogram to prove it._

_Rick didn't budge, but Daryl just patted the top of his head. He wasn't puking anymore and it was enough progress to make the hunter consider moving._

_In painfully slow motion, he slowly knelt down against the cool tile, wincing at his legs crackling and complaining about his weight. Just a little longer and it'll all be worth it was what he continued to tell himself, and he refused to do otherwise. All that came from Rick now was soft drops of liquid, probably excess vomit dripping down his drench beard._

_"...Rick, c'mon. Not gonna carry you. Already gotta carry your spawn," he attempted to joke, but yet Rick wasn't moving. His forehead remained pressed against the toilet, hiding whatever expression he was wearing. This was getting tiring, Rick couldn't be that exhausted..._

_"...Rick?"_

_Then came movement, Rick's body weight shifting just enough to lean back from the toilet... and collapse down onto the tile floor, blank blue eyes staring at nothing, rimmed with crimson that covered his face._

_The entire scene shifted immediately, and they were back to the clearing already soaked with blood of Abraham and Glenn, but Rick didn't move. He couldn't. Not with the crack so deep into his skull that it disfigured him and his left eye had rolled out of his socket. Once gentle brown curls now were coated in red, drenching his peppered beard and spreading across the dirt._

_No breath entered his lungs, and none can escape as the hunter could only helplessly stare at the face of his partner, the color draining with the blood until THWACK._

_Brain and bone splattered against his poncho, nearly drenching it in a single blow of Lucille. The bones audibly cracked and crumbled under the blow, and the face distorted farther from what remained of Rick. Another blow, another splatter, another layer of his lover coating his poncho._

_That laugh, cackle, it was echoing in his head along with the crushing of his reason for existing's skull._

_"No..." it was the whisper that Daryl couldn't even pinpoint coming from him, not as the bat came down time and time again, scraping away the curly brown hair, the soft wrinkles that would come with every gentle smile, the eyes that looked into his very soul turning into simple orbs now rolling across and gathering dirt._

_Everything was falling apart. Rick was falling apart. There wasn't enough of Rick to scrape together between his hands, as if he could somehow reverse the damage._

_Then the hard hand grabbed onto his chin, yanking it up to stare into the eyes of his partner's killer. The grin, the blood speckling his features, and the eyes..._

_The eyes...  
_

_"Sorry, darling. You know the drill."_

_Stretched blue eyes could only watch as the bat slowly reeled back, all the way back behind his broad shoulders, preparing to deal a blow to kill the hunter. But no. It couldn't be that easy._

_Horror froze the hunter as the bat suddenly swung down, the barbs glistening with blood in the moonlight, aiming for the swollen stomach that protected his last remnants of Rick, about to tear out their baby...!_

_Don't take her away from me!_

Light suddenly hurdled into his vision, chasing away the baseball bat, the eyes, the blood and the remains to the back of his subconscious, blinding the hunter who awoke in a sudden sweat. Panic consumed him as the weight of Rick's death plummeted onto his tired mind, making his body run much quicker than his mind as it lept up from where he had been laying only moments before.

Voices were reduced to white noise, and all he could see was the blinding white that surrounded him. Blurs were moving without his consent, as if trying to pin the hunter and tear him back into the nightmare. All he could see, all he could hear was that blood, the eyes, the crushing of skulls...! 

_THWACK_

_THWACK_

The eyes slip out of Rick's skull.

_THWACK_

His skull breaks away, exposing the defenseless brain that was still trying to process its own horror.

_THWACK_

_THWACK_

Rick was becoming a puddle of flesh with each swing, spreading across the blinding light in a horrific succession. Splattering walls. Coating the floor.

_THWACK_

Hands frantically moved across his stomach, feeling the flatness that could only mean that the blows had torn away his last lifeline

_THWACK_

Organs, brain, screams, voices, his baby.

His baby.

_His baby!_

"Daryl!"

The disoriented hunter was knocked to the ground, and attempts to rise back up in an attempt of retaliation was crushed with the foot that stomped down between his shoulderblades, crushing his chest into the tile below.

Rick, Rick, where was Rick, where was his baby, where were they!

The voices were rambling again, and he can pull his name from the crowd. Rick, Rick, was Rick here? Was he here with him?

_THWACK_

More hands were grabbing him at this point, holding down his body as he furiously tried to fight his way out from their grasp, even as breath escaped his lungs to the point that the blinding light was darkening.

Then came the speckles of blood that spotted the lights, spreading out before him. There was pain. More hands, all grabbing, tearing, like he was their kill. More voices. More names. He could barely hear them past the pounding of his own blood through his ears, to the point he feared they would burst.

His baby, where did they take her?

"What did you do to him!" was all he managed to force out of his crushing lungs, barely more than a gasp. Rick, the baby, where were they? They must be alive, he could hear the voices. Rick was calling for him, trying to help him escape. He had their child, he had to have. Saved her from the blow.

_"Rick!"_

Then came the prick. It was odd, as with all the commotion and noise and sensations that he managed to recognize it at all. It slipped into his shoulder, but only pinched for a moment. Not when the numbness was already spreading from the supposed injury.

No, he couldn't die now, Rick was right there! He could just barely make him out in the haze of bodies, frantic blue eyes, arms wrapped tight around a bundle grasped tight in his arms. He was yelling, saying his name, but didn't come to him. Too dangerous, couldn't endanger their child.

It was too late for him anyway. Not as the numbness began to settle into a haze, forcing his limbs to slow from their jerking for freedom. But Rick was safe. No one was noticing him.

It was all a dream.

All just a bad dream...

_"Rick run!"_

Just run... Take her and run... Tell her about me, Rick. I threw squirrels at you when we first met. She's gonna by my little Squirrel. Lil Asskicker and Squirrel. Tell her that I love my little Squirrel.

Daryl loves his Squirrel...

The last image of his partner was disappearing at this rate, running. Taking their Squirrel to safety. Cold relief began to ease out the last twitching of his body, allowing the clenched muscles to relax. Take her far away, to where no walker will ever reach her.

Teach her to hunt. To use a bow.

Give her my poncho. Wrap her up in it. 

Keep her safe, Rick...

The darkness was comforting, the panic being calmed away to blissful silence. The voices were stopping, the blows gone... Just... quiet.

His vision swam with tears, a faint glimmer of happiness. He was ready to die. They were safe.

Death was gentle as it took away his ability to move, then muffled his thoughts. Her cold touch was more than welcomed at this point as the light finally parted from his sight, and everything turned quiet.

Peaceful.

Silent.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god you guys have no idea how happy you all make me. I redid this chapter and I am six thousand times more happy with it. I love all of you, and your support makes me unbelievably happy.
> 
> I love you <3 you have made me feel so welcome into this community and this is the first fic I have actually written in two years that I can actually keep going on. Your support is what keeps me going and I am ever thankful.
> 
> -J


	4. Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl doesn't expect to wake up. He didn't expect to still be alive. Daryl wasn't expecting anything that happened.

Everything was cold, but not like before when he was in the cell. It was as if he felt nothing but cold. Couldn't feel his own arms or legs, his body, his own heart beating...

Maybe he was dead. Kinda a dull way to go, a little prick and it was all over. He had his brushes with death before, when he had been Pa and beaten a bit too hard to where he thought he would never wake up, when he had been in that river with an arrow to his side and walkers chewing on his shoes, or even when Dwight had shot him in the shoulder. Thought he was going to die at any moment, by Lucille or by bloodloss.

They all came with this coldness, like he was drifting.

He wondered idly who he would see when he died. Gabriel had his stories about heaven, how everyone you loved would be up there waiting... Was Merle up there? Or was the only place a Dixon could go was hell.

They were both murderers, even if it was mostly after the apocalypse hit. He would be comfortable in knowing that Pa was burning into the depths of hell, but Ma didn't deserve to burn. Wasn't her fault she got sucked into being a Dixon too. He barely remembered Ma... Skinny ol' woman, probably on heroin. Merle had a knack for heroin, his favorite drug. Probably was shooting up when she had him. Not sure what she did with me...

Merle claimed she was clean. If you didn't include the near constant smoking. Merle thought she would stay clean for me, at least, after I was born. 'parently only lasted a week.

Wish she coulda taught me shit other than surviving. Like feelings. Didn't like drinking them away like Merle did, but they're a bitch. Wish she was around when I got sick when I was a teen. Wish no one was around when the doc said I's a chick too. Intersex? Hermapha-whatever the hell it was? Said it was super rare or some shit, and that they didn't know what would happen.

Didn't go over well with Pa, knowing he got a halfbreed... thing.

Man, he hated getting lost in his own head. If this was what death was gonna be like, he'd rather a few beatings.

Or the cramps. The cramps sucked dick. Don't know how girls put up with this shit once a month, he just got them whenever they felt like it.

Was he dead yet? It was taking a hell of a long time. No damn white light people blab about, no voices telling him to go to the light... No angels. Not even trumpets. He got the shittiest entrance to death ever.

...Ow.

Something ached. It was the only thing other than his coldness, but he could feel it... somewhere. It was just a prick, like leaning against a bruise or touching a fresh cut. Maybe he was only... half dead? Sure, just split him in two completely. Half guy, half girl, half alive, half dead, half... half him, half kid.

Little Squirrel gonna be safe with Rick. He's damn good with kids. Gonna grow up playing with Judith, gonna be sis's. Hope Carl will keep an eye on her with the only one he got. ...Hope Rick will cover it up that she's ours. Don't want her beat because she's got two dads.

God damn it, the prick wasn't going away. Getting worse, actually. Where was he... Oh, squirrel. She's gonna be a good kid if she's anything like her Daddy. ...The other one. Don't want her growing up to be a Dixon.

Could the pain just settle down for a second? He was trying to enjoy the last moments of his life before he's sent to hell.

Oh, there was the light. Super damn tiny, like a tunnel. Light was white, so maybe that meant heaven. Didn't ever really believe in no God, but if He got them this far then... Maybe He wasn't so bad. Gonna find out either way...

The light was warm. Chasing away the coldness. Such a pleasant warm... The sun... The heat... Like being wrapped up in Rick's arms again... See yah soon, Rick.

* * *

A sudden jolt forced his eyes to open, frantic and wide and blinded once again by that light. This time, they were prepared, especially as his feral body yanked itself to get off of whatever the hell he was on, only to feel restraints. They were around his wrists, his ankles, his chest, his hips...Strapping him down like he was some animal. They barely flexed under the strain, probably belt.

Any sound he could make was trapped under a plastic cup stretched across his face, yet not suffocating him. There was still cold air flowing into his body, even as it was drawn in by harsh pants. His body felt like it was covered in a cold sweat, shivering, even as he felt that he was covered by something thick, maybe a blanket.

His eyes finally adjusted to the light that came from the ceiling light, shining down upon him like the sun had decided to get six times closer to earth. This wasn't the cell. Probably wasn't heaven either. Which meant he was still...

"Finally decided to join us, Daryl?" was the voice that managed to cut through his flickering thoughts, speaking almost right into his ear on his right. There was the sound of a rolling chair scooting across tile, and a cold hand touched against his forehead, where he instinctually flinched away from.

The hand was covered in a white glove, and the doctor's face finally came into view above him. He wore a surgical mask as if he was disease-ridden and didn't want to get infected. The fingers finally moved, first forcing his right eye open, shining a blinding light into it, then doing the same to the left. Daryl was still shivering, unanswered questions flying through his head.

"You've been out for some days. Dwight didn't tell me that he had shot you. Had a nasty infection and you damn near died on us after that stunt you pulled."

Days?

"You should be thankful Negan didn't want you turning. Would have been a lot easier to let you turn in the cell, but he thinks you're worth being alive. Not sure if I agree with the decision yet, but I got you back to the living."

Negan?

"That may not be for much longer, though..." the chair swirled around, and he could hear the man scooting to his left side instead. His hands poked and prodded, touching his arm that had been tucked under the blanket.

He took his pulse, and decided to take his sweet ass time checking over his body. There were weird patches on him, and it took a few moments to register a beeping sound in the background.

He remembered those... Weird monitors for his heart and stuff. He had been to the hospital enough when he was little to remember that at the very least.

"Now I'm going to unbuckle you. Then you're going to answer some questions."

Metal jingled softly as the restraints were loosened, going slow to free his left arm first. He couldn't help but flex his hand, as if to make sure that the arm still belonged to him. Next he began to unbuckle his chest, but stopped there. Just a few restraints. Daryl figured he would have to earn the rest of them to be off of him.

Finally the doctor tugged against his uninjured shoulder, pulling him up just enough to a sitting position even as it tugged on his right arm restraint. His head swam immediately, lights floating before his eyes. The doctor mumbled something he didn't quite catch, not with his head throbbing the way it was... What the hell did the doctor put into him? How long was he out again?

A tap came to his arm, and he numbly tilted his head back to look at the doctor, finally taking in his features.

His eyebrows were furrowed, and it didn't take having the mask off to know that he wasn't quite pleased with his charge... "...Huh?" he mumbled stupidly, muffled with the mask still over his face.

The doctor sighed in frustration, rubbing his temple with his gloved hand. "I was going to be gentle, but there is no time." His eyes looked back to Daryl's and narrowed, finally reaching up to pull down the mask just in case it would muffle the words he was about to say. Daryl expected a few things to happen, maybe ordering him to get out and be fed to walkers, or go back to the cell. There were other fears, but his mind simply couldn't comprehend them. The last thing he thought the doctor was going to tell him was;

"How long have you had cancer?"


	5. Unease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't be nervous, Daryl. They'll only use it against you.

Shadows stepped in front of the small slice of light that shown beneath the door, but none stopped. They all were treating him as if he was an infected, keeping their interactions with the hunter as low as possible. Daryl huffed out a sigh. Pathetic.

The hunter was laying on his side, a bit stretched out instead of curled up in his usual ball in the corner. His shoulder was laced with white gauze that the doctor probably regrets using on him, but it was doing quick work to speed up his healing. They didn't think it mattered anymore and Daryl couldn't blame them.

They had spent hours combing through his body, probably the most humiliating hours of his life. They had him bent over longer than Rick ever did, prodding, inspecting... God damn embarrassing. He had spent the entire time shoving his face into the paper that had covered the doctor's examination table, attempting to hide the shame.

This wasn't his first time dealing with this. But god, his hands were fucking cold!

They didn't bother to listen to him the entire time, when he said over and over that he didn't have cancer.  
When the doctor first declared his prognosis, Daryl had been shocked into silence. To think that he had overcome the dead coming back to life, only to die because of a little clump of cells in his body... It was humiliating. It wouldn't be his first choice to how he would die.

Then the doctor kept talking, about how he must be close to the end with how high his 'levels' were. HCG.

Denise had said that too, at first. It had baffled her to think that Daryl was showing no signs of prostate cancer, yet had HCG levels through the roof for a normal man. Of course she had to tell Rick first, since Daryl had still been passed out from overheating.

God, you would have assumed that Daryl was already turning into a walker with how Rick was reacting.

Sobbing, snot-coated, telling him over and over how much he loved him and that he would help all the way to the end... Only once Denise had explained more of the symptoms that things stared to make less sense.

After days of combing through medical books, taking enough blood out of him to make a walker go into a fit, and a bit too much prodding for his comfort, they finally came to their answer.

Daryl tried telling the doctors that he had been through this speal before, about being examined, and just shrugged it off. But no, he had to shove his hand up his ass. Repeatedly. Only then did they allow themselves to give up.

It had to be cancer, but then it wasn't cancer. Couldn't be cancer.

Just pregnant.

Denise had stumbled across that little nugget of information while skimming through the third stack of books, of high HCG levels being the chemicals that tripped pregnancy tests. One messy and awkward ultrasound later and Daryl came home with a 4x6 picture of a peanut in his stomach.

His lips twitched into a slight smirk, a bit smug to knowing more than the doctors would ever figure out. Perhaps this was going to be his way out. They would leave him in Alexandria and say that they weren't about to risk him dying and turning, how it must have been Alexandria's plan all along.

Thinned arms curled around his stomach, trying to fend off the ache of having little to no food. They had fed him through IV the entire time he was out, but they had finally given up on the slop they had been feeding him. Now he had a much more nutritous meal.

Fucking dog food on a bun.

He still stared at it with distaste, and he almost wished for his ball of slop back. They were bound and determined to make him nothing more than a filthy mutt. It sat on the dirty floor in front of him, having been waiting for him when they led him back to the cell. Daryl just had to wait it out...

His body curled up, shivering faintly at the cold. Even after wasting bandages and IV fluids and god knows what else, they wouldn't spare him a blanket. Probably were afraid he'd get cancer all over it... Idiots. Denise, with little medical training, had been smarter than this old ass doctor with a degree. It was a wonder how anyone in the Sanctuary was alive.

Another pair of footsteps passed the door but there was no hesitation. Maybe they were just going to leave him to die in the room alone, and then come in to stick a knife into his skull.

Then there was the usual silence other than the drops of water, comforting at this point. It was a distraction and the droplets were infrequent, not just droning on. He would occassionally move to the center of the room, catching the droplets in his mouth to soothe his burning throat. His lips were cracking from dryness and would occassionally bleed, crusting on the edges.

This was his routine now, trying to fight against the hunger by eating the bread off of the dog food, every now and then trying to stomach a few bites but would usually vomit it back up. Sometimes he would vomit for no reason at all. It left his stomach aching and his head swirling, and the only comfort was the cold floor to soothe the pain.

The very floor he detested was now his only companion.

The pattern repeated to the point that his thoughts were becoming white noise, meaningless. Thankfully there was a break to the pattern after irregular sleeping, when footsteps slowed outside his door.

The hunter stiffened at the realization, and retreated to the corner, his back to the wall. His stomach flipped, and the bites of bread lunged up his throat once more. A key was slid into the lock, and next came the twisting of the knob. He was prepared for the light this time, squinting even before the lock clicked open.

"Up."

Daryl obeyed, even when it took time. No, he wasn't being submissive... He chose to obey. There was a difference. Choosing to disobey wouldn't help him escape, not yet.

It was Dwight, of course. Dwight was the only one that would give him food or fetch him from the cell. It wasn't hard to tell, either, that Dwight was trying to imitate the hunter in any way possible, but he was still a skinny lap dog to Negan. He just had to wait for him to slip up.

The grab to his arm was unnecessary, and the crossbow to his back was just as pointless, but he couldn't help but let out a gruff growl. Already he was attempting to figure out what would be the most painful and slowest way to die for Dwight... After he got his jacket back.

There was no one within the stone halls, but there never was.

But as he was prodded so gently down the hall, a stone dropped into the pit of his stomach. They were going back. Back to pricking needles, to unwanted grabs and shoves, accusations of cancer... He'd rather be in the cell.

Another jolt into his back was replied to with a grunt, but he grudgingly continued down the hall, turned the corner...

And stared at the doctor standing beside the hospital bed, mask over his face, and a familiar device in his hand connected to a screen. His eyes were narrowed, and he seemed physically uncomfortable, but ready to fight off the hunter at any moment. His stomach flipped as he looked at the wand with the rounded tip, then back at the monitor, then the doctor. This was it.

Ultrasound.


	6. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth is more painful than the lies to cover it up

"...Well, get in there. We don't got all night."

The harsh prod of the crossbow to his spine made the hunter jolt, nearly striking out instinctually, but managed to hold his twisting hands at his sides. Bile was already rising in his throat at this point, blue eyes darting about like a caged animal looking for an escape.

There was only one way in, one way out, and Dwight was blocking the way with Daryl's own crossbow. Unless he wanted to take another wound to the shoulder, or worse, he may have to bide his time.

He was faintly aware to his shoulders hunching, hackles tensed as he prepared to have to beat his way out of harms way in a moment. If there was even a moment of being able to slip away...

The doctor said nothing, but it was for the best. Even he knew that saying the wrong thing would give him a scalpel to the throat if not worse. His hands were tense around the wand, fingers touching against the round pad at the bottom, and even he seemed to be wary of the situation.

The only one not being so nervous was the asshole wearing his jacket.

"Doc, where do you want him?"

Another prod into his back and he was shoved straight into the medical table, cringing as his hips knocked against the cold steel. The medical bed thing wasn't like one of those actual hospital beds such as the ones that were at the hospital that took Beth and Carol. It was more like a slightly padded bench that was able to be propped up.

Unfortunately Daryl was already quite familiar with this bench, as he had been spread over it too many times to care to mention.

"Dwight, may I remind you that you're the reason he's here in the first place? If you hadn't shot him in the shoulder, he wouldn't need to be tended to," the doctor grunted, eyes narrowing as he pulled the mask down to expose the deep set frown.

The burned man blinked, a bit stunned to be talked back against to defend the naked, dirty hunter faintly shivering from the cold. Said hunter had resorted to awkwardly crossing his arms across his chest, tucking his hands beneath his arms. All he wanted was for this bickering to stop and he could go crawl back into his corner... 

At least he wouldn't have someone staring at him like a child.

Dwight soon resumed his grumbling as he closed the door behind them, then leaning his shoulders against the wood. Apparently he was going to be staying... Blue eyes squinted back at him, a silent death threat that the burned man only rolled his eyes at.

There they stood in awkward silence, Daryl cold and nude, Dwight still smug and an asshole, and the doctor on the verge of either a nervous breakdown or exploding at both of them. One of them had to move... And thankfully it was the doctor.

"Daryl, just... lay down. Lay down straight and I can begin the exam." His eyes didn't meet Daryl's as the hunter looked back with a stubborn glare, instead beginning to fiddle with the monitor beside the bench, as if whatever it was must be more interesting than explaining to the hunter what was about to happen.

As if he didn't know.

Only after a little while of the trio refusing to move in awkward silence did the doctor realize the growing tension between all three parties. He gave a deep sigh, finally looking back up to the two standing close to the door. Obviously no one wanted to be here, but they were running out of options...

It was then that Daryl realized that standing ass naked in the middle of the room served no purpose and that he may as well grudgingly accept the exam. They weren't going to stick their hands up his ass again, at least, which was promising.

Scowling at nothing in particular, he finally lowered himself to sit upon the cold bench, nearly flinching at its fridgedness. His eyes were still trained upon the two, though, waiting for one of them to make a wrong move.

His mind spun with options of what he could use for weapons, how fast it may take for Dwight to raise his crossbow, or if he could take him out before he has a chance to fire a shot.

The silence continued, though, as the doctor was obviously waiting for the hunter to lay back, yet he was refusing. He was still glaring at Dwight, even though chills were riding up his spine. This was the last thing he wanted Dwight to see, powerless and vulnerable. He just wanted to wipe that smug look off his burnt face...

"Dwight, go wait outside. Do not come back in, or I will have to report to Negan."

The doctor's voice was surprisingly bitter towards the burned man, who lost the smirk in an instant. It even surprised Daryl, knowing that the doctor wasn't one to raise his voice to anyone and usually was quite calm.

Just to make sure he made it seem like he was choosing to leave rather than being ordered to, he threw another glare to the hunter. "Don't screw this up," was all he muttered before grudgingly opening the door, sliding out, and letting it shut behind him.

The breath that had been clenched in Daryl's throat finally was released, and his shoulders slouched just slightly from their previous tensed position. Granted he wished nothing more than to go back to the darkness of his cell, but it was a start.

"...Now that we can have some peace, I'd like you to lay down. I don't believe this should take too long if you are willing to cooperate."

The voice had softened again, and his gloved hands were back to fiddling with the monitor. The glare the hunter gave was softening, yet still piercing beneath his greasy long bangs. The doctor chose to ignore.

With painfully slow motions, the hunter began to uncoil himself, bringing his legs up first. He glanced down to his legs, knees scuffed from his numerous falls to the ground, bruised and battered. It took some more coaxing before he finally relented and laid down onto the bench, but immediately felt far too exposed.

As if realizing the extreme discomfort, the doctor gave him a passing glance of sympathy before stepping to the closet on the far wall of the room. Any other time, Daryl would have considered attacking from behind and taking him hostage, but... he also wanted this.

He wanted to see.

His blue eyes had turned back to the ceiling at this point, body stiff and hands clenching onto the bench nearly to white knuckles. Then the doctor returned, and he soon felt the comfort of a blanket placed atop his lower half, an attempt to cover him up.

His eyes snapped to the doctor, unsure of this peace offering, but he was already working back to the monitor. It felt strange, and it still left his top half exposed, but it was a start.

"Alright, Daryl. What I'm going to do is that I will use the ultrasound to see if I can find any of the tumors farther up your body where I could not reach." Lies. The hunter was sure that the doctor had given up on the idea of cancer on this point.

Not as he took that damn cold gel and squeezed a bit onto his gloved fingers, then looked to Daryl expectantly. Waiting for his permission. The hands tensed farther, fingers twisting into the thin fabric, but he finally gave a tense nod.

The shit was cold, just as he expected, and the pale blue soon turned murky with the dirt that covered his torso. He still didn't understand what the hell it was for, no one would explain it to him. But it was soon being plopped onto his lower abdomen, uncomfortably close to his hips. It was in large globs, making a large line horizontally against his caving abdomen.

Daryl knew he wasn't supposed to be this thin, but he had little choice... He could only hope that it didn't... hurt her.

The wand now hovered over his tense muscles, and he gave a soft hiss in warning, a less than subtle sign of his aggitation. The wand flinched back, but then returned to the same position much slower. "I can guarantee that you will not be harmed. I will have to press a little hard to see beneath the hips, but it will not hurt you."  
Or her. Better not hurt her.

"...just get it over with." The lump in his throat had nearly choked the words from being able to escape, but it was enough. With a slight nod, the doctor pulled his mask back up before finally pressing the pad down against his stomach.

God was he trying to STAB him?!

"Easy, ya prick!" Daryl growled, flinching beneath the pressure of the wand pressing deep to reach beneath his hips. Normally he wouldn't be so talkative in his situation, but... the guy gave him a blanket. May as well try to warm up to him, even if it involved cursing.

Surprisingly, the doctor gave a soft apology and eased the pressure. "...I am right in pressuming you are quite tender still," he murmured, already starting to fall into his thoughts and collecting the data. The pad rolled around across his stomach, spreading more of that cold gel across his stomach before finding a different position. This time, he added the pressure slowly, glancing back to the hunter ot ensure he was not causing too much discomfort.

All the hunter did in return was grunt, finally laying his head back down against the bench. This was certainly more comfortable than being prodded before, but his body remained tense. It sometimes made it hard for the doctor who had to work to relax the muscles to reach whatever the hell he was looking for.

Blue eyes stared to the ceiling, beginning to count the tiles as he had with every visit to this damned place. Counting distracted him. It was why he constantly recounted the steps of the cell, exploring every inch as if he could have missed something. No, he had to have complete control of his surroundings... Just in case he needed to fight or flight.

The doctor had settled on a position now, sometimes angling the wand to get a better angle, but all it did was make him realize he hadn't taken a piss in what could have been hours. Granted he didn't have much to expell, but the damn brat kept...

...He was willing to put up with it for a while, as long as it meant things were alright.

The doctor was writing things, now. He had a notepad beside the monitor that he would scribble down on, keeping more notes. Chances are he will never see anything like this in his life ever again, so it made sense to take as many notes as he could until his subject was abandoned.

Then came the silence that was broken only by a few clicks on his keyboard or scribbling on his notepad, or some 'hmm' in interest. By now, the hunter was about as relaxed as he allowed himself to be, seeing as how the doctor was still prodding up against his bladder and whatever else was down there.

It wasn't until he tasted blood that he realized that he had let go of the spread and chewed on his thumb to aleviate the stress and anxiety. This was taking longer than he had anticipated... Licking away the blood in hope that the doctor had not seen, he forced his hand back down by his side, once again twisting his itchy fingers into the fabric.

Now back to counting tiles... 1, 2, 3... 5... 9...

12... 15...

"...Daryl, you already knew about this, didn't you?"

"...Mhm."

18... 19...

"How long have you... known?"

21...

"...Dunno, a... week before I..."

Watched two of his closest friends being scrapped off of a barbed wire bat.

Watched Rick turn into a mumbling pulp of an obedient mutt, cowering before Negan.

Watched everything fall apart.

Watched-

"Daryl, it's alright. Calm down. No one will hear us."

He blinked, only now realizing that he could probably keep track of his vitals relatively easy. Or maybe it was the fact that his thumb was back between his teeth, chewing away at already nubbed nail.

He anchored his hand back down again.

...22.

"Do you know how far you...?"

"...If I gotta guess... twoish?"

The last time he was with Rick. Before Jesus showed up.

Before Rick went to see Michonne.

Before he had seen them bolting from Rick's bedroom together, in various states of undress.

Before Rick had told him that it was over.

Before he had-

A hand delicately patted against the left one, the right being back between his teeth. The gloved hand gave his own calloused hand a gentle squeeze before the question was asked, the only one he cared about.

"...Did you want to see?"

Eyes narrowed as they locked onto the doctor, who was now looking directly at him. His face was smooth and calm, and he quietly pulled down the surgical mask to reveal the slightest hint of a smile, one that nearly made the hunter jump up and snatch that monitor away in an instant.

No, he had to be calm. Couldn't get too excited.

"...Sure."

 _Please show me, please show me, fucking show me, I_ need _to see her, please let me see her-_

Then the monitor was turned. It was agonizingly slow at first, like the doctor was drawing out every flicker of emotion that the hunter allowed to escape, studying him like a hawk. He just about bit his own thumb off when he finally caught a glance at the screen, and he had immediately sat up to get a better look, unfortunately throwing off the doctor's current placement.

He cringed, and what little he saw on the screen was now blank. "I-I didn't..." he stumbled, before quickly biting down onto his tongue to not say anything else. The doctor merely sighed and shook his head, but the smile had grown just enough to ease his nerves.

"Lay back down. I'll make sure you can see. Just stay still, that's all you need to do."  
Daryl almost immediately complied, detecting a slight tremble of anticipation that caught himself off guard.

He didn't understand why he was so damn excited. Doctor didn't say he was bleeding out or had cancer or nothing like that.

He didn't flinch this time as the wand was moved back near his hip, digging down against now relaxed muscles in search of the previous position he was in. The doctor was silent, having pulled the screen back to look clearer. His brows furrowed in concentration, until his eyes brightened.

"There."

Daryl nearly disobeyed and jolted up, but caught himself. The monitor was spun around now, quicker than before to avoid another incident. His breath caught in his throat as he finally got a good look at the screen and...-

"...The fuck's she at?"

It was all blobs. Gross gray blobs. That wasn't his little one, his little squirrel. He narrowed his eyes and tried to lean in closer, wondering if it was just starvation throwing off his vision. The doctor huffed a soft laugh, before pulling his chair closer.

"It's hard to see at this stage but it's riiiiight over... here."

The doctor had grabbed his pencil, using it as a pointer to assist the hunter, but it barely helped. He was pointing to a big bulbous blob. But right in the middle of that blob was the slightest flutter... A little flutter. A tiny flutter. 

A fluttering heart.

It was amist within the strange blob, but now that he managed to pick out the shape, his eyes followed the outline of the large bulb, and began to realize that it must be the head... Little shadows he guessed were limbs curled up against itself, such a tiny... weird body. Like a tiny alien. A peanut. A... god, what was it.  
His chest clenched up as he realized that the little blob of gray was... his baby. It was really there.

It was alive inside of him.

She was still okay.

She was...

The doctor was moving again, clicking a few buttons before reaching for a knob on the monitor. Only then did

Daryl hear the most beautiful sound he ever heard, than the river outside his house, the crickets and sparrows each morning... Rick's laugh, Judith's gurgle... It was better because...

_B-bmp b-bmp b-bmp b-bmp_

It was _her_.

The sound he made wasn't impressive, sounding more like a strangled attempt at a laugh or sob or something, something to let loose the emotion that was brimming up inside of him. He had stopped breathing, afraid that the sound of his own breath would chase away the wonderful sound of the heartbeat.

He watched the tiny heart along with the rhythm, thudding, beating like a hummingbird's wings, so strong and quick already.

The odd sound came from him again, and the screen was starting to blur. A rush of anger flooded him as he was about to snap at the doctor for moving away from his little girl, before he realized that it was his own vision as tears were starting to slip down his face.

But they weren't bitter tears. They were nothing like he felt before.

It was as if all the darkness had been blasted away just for a moment, just... just long enough to let the warmth take over, filling him to the point of spilling. Spilling out that happiness, bliss and joy.

He was happy.

She was happy.

They were happy.

Time stopped just long enough for him to commit every fiber of this experience to memory. The feeling of the wand still pressed into his body, where his daughter laid inside of him, the warm tears, the feeling as if he had birds trapped inside of his chest, wanting to soar free...

But then it had to end.

"...I am unsure of your plans, but... I believe you have two options." Everything came to a hault.

"You could continue to carry this child, as long as you are able, and I will tend to you throughout the... pregnancy." It was the first time that word had been said aloud in such a long time that it made the hunter wince.

"But."

But?

"...I have to inform Negan. I cannot protect you from what he will choose to do."  
The birds in his chest died at that moment, dropping to the pit of his stomach in a muddled mess of broken dreams. Daryl had allowed himself to forget just for a moment about the looming danger, of the death that followed every move.

If he brought the child into the world only for Negan to...

"...Or, I can give you some medicine and... allow it to run its course."

...Kill it.

Kill his little girl.

The very thought froze his heart, even when that possibility had been constantly whispering in the back of his mind ever since the diagnosis. What if it died? What if he died? What if he got sick and she... Or he gets hurt and...

"...It will not feel a thing."

...peaceful. A peaceful end to an existance that never began. It was probably the right thing to do... To bring a child into this horrific world was cruel, and to do it for his own selfishness was worse. But he...

"...No. I'm..." The words caught in his throat, and he had to blink away his tears to look to the doctor- no. To his friend. His only friend in this dark existance here.

"...I'm keeping her."

* * *

Shoulders slowly pulled their way from against the door, weighing twice as much as they did minutes ago. The crossbow was carefully pulled over his shoulder, mindful of the vest that still hung on his thinner body. Eyes were staring at the ground, blank.

Shoes turned on their heels as hands were shoved deep into pockets, and the man slowly walked away. His steps were heavy, his head hanging, and eyes still stared at nothing.

Things just became a lot more complicated.


	7. Refusal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan may know now, but that doesn't hinder Daryl's resolve to escape. If only he knew that another was working against him to save him.

"...You're sure you didn't have anything bad to eat? Or maybe got socked in the head? Daryl's a hell of a fighter."

Emmett buried his face into his hands, heaving a long sigh. He knew that this was going to be difficult to explain, as it was nearly impossible to understand at face value. It didn't help that Negan was looking at him as if he had sprouted three new heads each speaking German.

"I'm quite sure, sir. It would explain why my previous tests failed, that he does not have cancer but having high HCG levels."

Negan tilted his head, his lips in a creased frown. He obviously wasn't here to understand the medical reasons to how he had found out, especially since his brow furrowed. He was practically howling at the doctor to get on with his point.

Clearing his throat and adjusting himself in his seat while Negan was pacing across the floor, he started speaking again. "Daryl is intersexed. He was born with both female and male reproductive organs, each of which are functioning. While he does not have obvious female genitalia, he does have high estrogen levels, which are the opposite of testosterone."

This seemed to do little of Negan's understanding, especially as he continued to pace in front of the doctor. At least he wasn't trying to find some excuse for why the doctor would be lying to him, especially because he had finally put Lucille down. His eyes darted to it now and then, as if to ensure that it was not yet being touched.

"...So Daryl's... a chick and a dude. At the same time."

"Yes."

"...And you're saying that he's..."

"...pregnant, yes." They were finally getting somewhere in this conversation, but Emmett had the patience of a saint. Negan sighed loudly as he turned away and ran a hand through his hair, still appearing completely confused. It was strange to see Negan with his guard down, especially pacing nervously like this.

One would almost think he was the father with the way he was acting, but that was impossible. Daryl was too far along before he even knew that Negan existed.

"...Well shit-biscuits. What do we do now?" Negan turned back to face him and stopped his pacing halfway through the room, though still appearing anxious. Negan was not a man that liked surprises, and would rather have complete control over all that surrounds him. This certainly was not within his skillset of handling easily.

At this point, Emmett eventually stood up, though made no move to come closer. "Well... we do have the supplies to handle a pregnancy, more so than anything else." They actually had multiple people within the Sanctuary that were pregnant at the moment and Negan intended to have more.

"It does make him much more vulnerable but also defensive. If he's continued to be treated the way he is right now without any medical help, he most likely will die long before coming to term."

That was the part that he had failed to tell Daryl. He could simply ignore the hunter if need be, make him a regular guard or wrangling the walkers outside. What was certain would be that he would not be able to survive on the small amounts of food and no medical attention.

How long would he be able to last in his current condition? Not long. Not when he was losing pounds by the day, unable to keep any food down, barely able to walk outside of the cell...

Negan huffed softly to himself, finally sitting himself down on the couch that was facing the doctor. They were only a few feet apart now, and the light brown eyes always felt to be burning into his body. Yet he didn't fear. Negan needed him. If it wasn't for him, the sanctuary would fall into ruin without someone to patch up the men he burns with the iron.

There was a bit of silence from their leader, stroking his beard with thought.

"If anything, there seems to be three options. We either keep him throughout this pregnancy and aid him through it, give him back to Alexandria so we do not have to care for him, or we allow him to..." To die. To perish, to let the child inside of him consume him until it dies, then allow it to take Daryl with him.

"...Or we could... Um..." It was odd for Negan to be at a lost for words, but already Emmett knew what he was thinking. They could always just kill the child inside of him and try to keep the man alive to use another day. Negan quietly chewed on the inside of his cheek at the idea, before shaking his head.

"...Yah know, I'm a lot of things. But I'm not a baby killer. And if it means that Daryl can, uh, get pregnant, then.." Negan fell quiet again, contemplating. He already knew of Negan's softness towards women and children. It was possibly the most human thing within Negan.

There was only a couple moments of silence before Negan stood up again, clearing his throat as if to clear his mind. "So. I can trust you with his medical needs. But he's staying in that damn room until he can prove to me that he's willing to change."

"He won't break just by being alone, sir." He already knew from experience the type of man that Daryl was. He thrived off of being alone, even if he didn't wish to be. He was a survivor even before the end of the world. The scars that covered him were old but still rough to the touch. No salve could ease the pain, and he doubted that Daryl wanted it.

Negan sighed loudly, massaging his temple. "Damn kid thinks he's smart. Gotta think a step ahead. Gotta get into his head... Once we're there, he'll never get us out," he chuckled to himself as he glanced back to the doctor, that unnerving smile across his face. Emmett swallowed and ducked his head.

"...You know what? Lemme talk to him. I'll give him a choice. I'd rather he come quietly and we can get him settled in." As if everything was now settled, Negan leaned down and picked up Lucille and slung her over his shoulder.

The thought of perhaps telling Negan that bringing the bat with him would not give a good image of peace wasn't allowed to be heard, not as he strode to the door, opened it, and shut it behind him. Emmett blinked, then let out a sigh of his own.

This was becoming quite difficult...

* * *

"Morning sunshine! How's mama-to-be?"

Daryl winced against the invasion to the cell, pushing his back farther against the wall. He was tucked away in his corner as usual, trying to rest off the examination. The very last thing he wanted was to be bothered by Negan and so soon. He knew the doctor would be telling Negan, but so soon...?

A growl rumbled in his throat by instinct, even as he was pressed low to the ground. It was as if he was becoming more feral with each moment he was trapped within this cell, which may be exactly what he wanted. All he had to rely on now was instinct and the hope of food being tossed into the darkness.

"Don't be like that, sweetheart. I'm not going to hurt a pretty little lady," Negan sneered, obviously enjoying himself with this new knowledge.

His muscles tensed, and that cold stab in his chest came again. He hadn't been called such a thing since Merle had died. No one else knew, after all. The idea that Negan, of all people, knew his one real weakness...

Then he simply had to prove him that he was no weaker than he was before.

The world spun around him as he pushed himself up to his feet, but all he needed was the momentum to send himself hurdling towards Negan. His hand pulled into a fist and his teeth were bared as he lunged to sock him across the face. This time, there was only him to kill. He couldn't punish someone else for his mistakes.

Negan easily side-stepped him, having known that it would rile up Daryl to speak to him in such a way. It left him nearly crashing into the stone wall of the hallway, where bright lights scorched at his paling skin. He managed to catch himself before fully slamming into the stone, but his body soon reminded Daryl that he was in no shape to fight.

Not as it crumpled down with a startled gasp, on his knees and leaning heavily to the wall for support. All of his strength had been expelled just by the frequent examinations, and his lack of food. He couldn't remember a time that he had been so weak, maybe only back when Pa was still alive.

"Now that's a shame."

Barbs touched against his bandaged shoulder, where blood was now beginning to weep and soil the white. Daryl flinched, but whipped his head around all the same to glare back at the man who dared to speak to him in such a way.

He was grinning, but it was a pity grin. A 'Wow, you're worse than I thought' grin. Lucille was resting against his skin right now, the barbs pressing dangerously into his thin skin but not yet cutting, just a warning.

Negan had slowly crouched down to be at eye level with the hunter, who only growled in response to the growing closeless. "Now don't give me that just yet. I just wanted to talk," he chirped, the grin now returning to its normal cruelity. The bat still remained at his shoulder as a constant threat to if he decided to misbehave.

At least he didn't wait long to start talking.

"Doc told me all about you and your little... situation." Looks like Negan wasn't quite comfortable with the words yet, either. "Gotta say that I respect you a bit more than before, getting knocked up during the apocalypse and still kicking ass." It might have been a compliment, but Daryl only huffed all the same.

"The last thing I want to do is have a mother sit in here and eat dog food the rest of your life, so I'd like to present you with an opportunity. How about you-"

"No."

Negan blinked at the word that had been snapped at him, the blue eyes now sharp as a steel blade and reeking with rage. He had to have known that it wouldn't be that easy to convince Daryl to do anything for him, even if it meant to improve his conditions.

He lived in his closet for days on end when Pa would get drunk. This was no different, other than not being whipped.

Negan let out a soft whistle, recovering himself quickly. "Do you even know what you're saying no to? I can offer you the finest hospitality I have to offer. Three square meals, Doc at your fingertips, hell I'd even let you outside! You could even keep the tyke if you just-"

"Don't need you."

This time Negan frowned, a bit frustrated. Daryl already knew that this offer may be between life and death, or at least living a little longer, but he would not bow down before Negan. He had to trust that Rick cared enough about him to try to take him back home.

...Then he remembered that it was practically a suicide mission, and Rick didn't even know about...  
Negan was waiting for Daryl to change his mind, staring at him with furrowed brows, but he did not break their gaze. It was his final answer, no matter what Negan wanted from him.

"...Well, I hope you enjoy Purina because that's all you're getting!" Negan broke out with his grin again, standing up. The bat lifted from his shoulder now, before hands suddenly grasped onto him from behind.

Any fight that Daryl still had was wasted as he was pulled back into the dark cell, practically thrown into his corner. His uninjured shoulder smacked into the stone, earning a grunt of pain that he soon stifled away to glare back at whoever had touched him.

Dwight was hovering above him, his hands still extended from pulling him inside the room, but he had quickly turned away to avoid Daryl's gaze. Negan was leaning on the doorframe, twirling Lucille around in his hands.

"Just to let you know, for when you're about on your last breath, I did try to give you an alternative. But, your choice!" Negan chuckled, just as Dwight slipped through the doorway and out of sight. He reached out with his other hand to the doorknob of the heavy door, and that grin never left his face.

"Enjoy yourself, kid. It's about to be a long day."

 _Slam_.

Darkness cloaked his faintly shivering body again, and he was once again alone within the stone walls, ones that he realized may turn into his last sight alive. His heart crashed down into his chest, and there was slight remorse for not bothering to hear what Negan wanted in exchange but he could only guess.

None of it would be worth Daryl betraying his family. Especially the one that wasn't born yet.

* * *

"Well, I gave it my best shot, D. It's up to you, now."

Dwight was stiff as he watched the large man walk through the hallway, leaving him at the doorway to his own room. His lips were in a tight line, his jaws clenching together. This wasn't what he had been hoping for... But Negan was still giving him a chance.

He had to get Daryl to change his mind, or he would be leaving Daryl to die in that cell.

Only once he watched Negan round the corner did he swallow harshly, glancing inside his room. There wasn't too many options to work with now with their discovery... Granted that Negan probably would have no trouble with them, but he had managed to entrust breaking Daryl to him. Now if only Daryl knew how much he was sparing him from.

The iron wasn't going to be possible, not in his condition. He had seen the scars that lined Daryl's back numerous times, and physically beating him would do next to nothing. They were going to have to try a different tactic...

Even after all that time left in complete darkness, Daryl still had his sanity intact. It was time to change that.

Dwight crossed his room quietly, ignoring the chatter of the TV he had left on. It was a luxury he had been willing to give Daryl if it meant agreeing to Negan's quite acceptable demands. He just needed to soften Daryl up to the idea, to have him realize that living in the cell just would not be possible much longer.

He grasped the plastic handle of the large object, straining to lift it. It was damn heavy and old, but it would do. Next he grabbed a stool that he had shoved into a corner, having forgotten just what he had intended to do with it before. He wouldn't need anything else. Just time.

Time that Daryl would soon be running out of as he placed the wooden stool just outside the door, though pausing to listen to what the hunter was doing. There was some shifting, and it sounded as if he was moving closer to the door, perhaps to see if it was still unlocked. But he had stopped short, and there was the sound of something being picked up, accidentally dropped before picked up again.

Then there was a gradual silence, only to be broken a few moments later by the sound of painful retching and whatever he had managed to choke down of the sandwich being vomited back onto the stone floor. Dwight cringed and forced himself to look away from the door, his heart heavy. All Daryl had to do was say yes, and he would be free of this pain...

He was doing this for Daryl, he reminded himself. Doing this to get him help.

The large box was finally placed ontop of the stool, and the cord plugged into the outlet just a few feet away. Another hard swallow nearly choked him as he looked to the door, then to the box, before heaving a sigh.

"...I'm sorry."

 _Click_.

_"...We're on Easy Street! And it feels so sweet!"_


	8. Weak Link

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl isn't breaking, and he is running out of time. It's time to try something else.

"You are either getting in that room or you're gonna be on the fence!"

"...know why yah took it. You 'r thinkin' 'bout someone else. ...That's why I can't."

Can't do that to her.

The door slammed, blocking out the light again. Darkness was his second home, a comfort that he could no longer enjoy when that _fucking music_  starts again. His body shivered beneath the filthy sweats he had been forced to wear, smelling more like a walker's guts in the heat. It was near torture for him to suffer through the smell, not when he had nothing left to vomit.

It was as if nothing would alleviate his pain. Not when the doctor would almost constantly come by to slip him some more food, putting medicine within his dog food because that was the only way to slip it past... Maybe Negan was trying to kill him.

Because he sure as hell wasn't breaking. They would never be Negan.

With slow movements, he slipped his arms back within the sweats curling himself within the fabric for warmth. He folded his arms over his still flat stomach, almost painful to the touch. It wasn't normal to hurt so much, and the doctor was worried she might...

His teeth grit together at the thought, and he pushed himself deeper within the corner. No, he had to keep fighting. The doctor wouldn't let it happen to him, he promised. He just had to keep fighting on until either three things happened. One, Rick came to save him. Two, the baby would be born. Or three, he died.

Daryl knew better than anyone that the odds were not within their favor... But every day brought him a little closer to the end, no matter what that end would be. All he could do was wait and prepare.

\---

"Why won't he take it?!"

The chessboard flew across the room, crashing into the wall. Pieces now scattered across the floor, handcarved ones chipped or snapped in two. He could replace the pieces, though. What couldn't be replaced was the lives that now hung in the balance, now being doomed because of one man's stubbornness.

Hands raked their way through his hair, nails nearly tearing into his scalp. They pulled strands out by the roots, tangling within his fingers before yanking them free. He gave out a soft hiss of pain, shaking his hands to rid himself of the broken pieces of hair. No, he had to keep calm. Keep controlled.

His breath shook in his lungs as he paused in the middle of pacing across the crowded room, closing his eyes to try to suck in any moment of peace. They still had time, at least. Negan had not yet washed his hands of the hunter, and had in fact seemed dissappointed that Daryl had not agreed yet.

There had to be something to make Daryl break. Something.

Dwight dropped down to his couch, hearing it creak loudly with age but he ignored it. Alright, he had to figure out a weakness to the hunter. But what?

They had all seen the hunter's body, the scars that laced his back. Most seemed to be at least a decade old, back within his childhood. Physical abuse would not make him break, and even when he had been outnumbered ten to one, he still fought against Negan's men. It had been a huge risk that one of them would hit him wrong, kick him in the stomach, accidentally...

Softening their approach wouldn't help, either. Daryl was not one to lose a grudge, knowing that they would not welcome him within their ranks with open arms. He would not trust them, at least no one else except the doctor. They had ruined their opportunity to build trust the moment that Negan had smashed in his friends' heads.

Perhaps they needed to look at this a different way... A parental way. Daryl's instincts were running high, he could see it with the way he walked, moved, glared. His arms were always close to his stomach, ready to protect what he cared for. They already were offering medical support, even when Daryl was hesitant to take it at time. It usually helped when it was only the doctor in the room, and he suspected that Daryl had no idea that he knew at all.

He reached up carefully and grasped at the winged vest, pulling it tighter over his smaller body. God he felt like an ass... He took everything away from the hunter. Took his bike, his clothes, his crossbow, his home...

...His home.

That was it. They had to take him home, but not in the way that Daryl would hope for.

Dwight jumped up from the couch in an instant, grabbing his crossbow and rushing his way out the door. It was only a few hallways down before he came to Negan's door, and gave it a few rapid knocks.

"The hell do you want?" was the answer, slightly confused since Negan had not expected anyone. Actually, he was hoping that he would be moving Daryl into the room still at this time, explaining the rules, getting him into a new pair of shoes...

"It's D. It's about Daryl."

"...Well get the hell in here, D, ain't got all day!"

Negan's voice had a mixture of emotions, something that surprised even Dwight. Perhaps he was thinking that Daryl had changed his mind? Or maybe he thought something had happened to the pregnant hunter. Knowing that making Negan wait was a quick ticket to death, he swung the crossbow over his shoulder and opened the door.

He was still sitting in his chair, sipping on the water that Daryl had refused before. He was swinging Lucille within his hand, twirling it by the wrist out of boredom. Negan made no move to get out of the chair, only raising an eyebrow at his righthand man. With the straw still in his mouth, he continued sipping the water in a silent motion for Dwight to explain himself.

"I have an idea for Daryl. I think we're going at this the wrong way."

This was met with a slight frown, still sucking through the straw and draining the water. The bat halted in his hand, dropping down to the side but his hand remained fixed upon it. Negan did not speak, but did not interrupt, and Dwight hoped it was an allowance to continue.

"...Think about it. This... doesn't happen by itself." Just about everyone was still awkward around the term pregnancy, causing Daryl to either scoff or chuckle at their expense. "If the doc is right on being a couple months along, that means that he didn't get knocked up _here_."

The glass was set down on the counter at this time, light brown eyes completely focused upon his right-hand man. The gears were churning within their leader's head, but he was still quiet. He wanted to make sure that Dwight was saying exactly what he was thinking...

"...Think about when we took him. Who reacted? And why?"

Silence cloaked them as Negan held the gaze unblinking, his expression neutral. The silence stretched so long that it felt like pins were getting pushed into his spine, spiking and twisting to gain a reaction. Negan wanted to make sure that Dwight wasn't just bullshitting him... Wasn't leading him astray.

Then the corner of his lips twitched, and it began to twist into that sinister grin that only made the sensation grow ten fold. Negan's boots clomped onto the ground suddenly, and he pushed himself to his feet, practically looming over Dwight.

A heavy hand clasped onto his shoulder, giving him a few hard pats.

"Dwighty-boy, this is exactly why I love keeping you around! That is a damn slice of genius you got going through your brain!" The hand lifted away from him just as Negan brushed past him, already twirling the bat in his hand once more. There was a practical skip in his step as he pushed his door open, the whistling beginning.

The steps continued down the hall while Dwight couldn't make himself go out the doorway, trying to shake off the feeling of unease. Maybe this wasn't as good of an idea as he had suspected, but perhaps this is the only way of getting to Daryl...

Threaten the one he loved.

"Oh _Daaaaaryl_ ~ How about we take a little trippy trip to Alexandria? Maybe see a certain somebody, give them some good news?"


	9. Unbelievable Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan has brought Rick a little something for the first gathering of the Saviors, but will Rick accept the truth?

Daryl... What did they _do_  to you?

There was no looking away from the shell of a man that came wandering through his gates as if he was a stranger, eyes to the ground, moving like a broken branch just barely hanging on...

His presence was a mere shadow as it followed _Negan_. Rick could only watch as his friend was being pulled around the entirety of Alexandria, into their own homes, dragging out mattresses, blankets, clothing...

When Negan pulled the gun on him, it took every ounce of restraint to not sink Lucille straight into his skull. But why didn't he? Scared of Negan killing someone else? Was he a coward like Michonne had accused him of being?

Was he really putting someone else before Daryl?

...Yes, he was. There was the rest of his family to protect. He couldn't act now, not when he could feel Daryl's stare burning into him from the corner of his eyes. The chances of saving Daryl from the masses of Saviors was absolutely none, not through violence at least. He would need to make sure he earned Negan's trust.

But all he wanted was to just _talk_  to Daryl. Tell him how sorry he was. That Maggie wasn't dead, it wasn't his fault... Rick could see it in his eyes, the emptiness, the guilt eating him alive... Maybe it was eating him alive.

The disgusting sweats hung off of him like a towel line. His cheeks were sullen, eye sockets dark and bruised and there were still smears of blood across his face and neck, beaten. His lip was split on the bottom, further commenting on the abuse.

Rick couldn't even _begin_  to think about what they were doing to Daryl. It made it all the more surprising when Negan had pulled him aside after the 'conversation' with Carl. Daryl lingered behind him, and now he couldn't meet Rick's gaze no matter how much he tried.

Daryl, I'm _sorry_! I should have done more to protect you from him!

The words repeated through his head, but he just couldn't force them from his lips. It would only hurt the hunter if Negan knew just how close they were. If he acted distant, he may lose interest in using Daryl as a weapon against his own family. So he hoped.

"...Now Rick. You gotta know by now that I don't take too kindly to being lied to."

They were still within the house, now in the living room and away from the other Saviors that had been looting moments ago. There were plenty of places to sit still, but none of them made the move to use them. Not even Negan, not as he lingered close to Daryl.

Rick's skin crawled at the tone of his voice, the smile that twisted the taller man's face. Negan was staring at the walls of the home, looking at the morse code poster that probably would be looted just like everything else, if not just for the fact to loot it.

He reached up and adjusted the frame, as if fixing an imaginary crookedness.

"What are you talkin' about?" Rick grunted softly, but his voice was careful. It was like playing with a time bomb, and his hand twitched around the handle of Lucille. If he said the wrong thing, Negan may take it as an opportunity to kill someone else. He just had to be careful...

Negan didn't look back to him, not right away. It gave the sheriff the opportunity to look back to Daryl. He was standing close to the doorway of the living room, shoulders sagged and his eyes avoiding him. What could have possibly happened to have _broken_  Daryl?

A sigh of contentness brought him back to the other man, who now stood back to admire his work with the poster. He seemed to be taking advantage of stringing out Rick's already fragile nerves. He turned back to face Rick and that grin seemed to grow that little bit bigger.

"...Why didn't you tell me about _Daryl?_  Seems pretty damn inconsiderate to him."

...About Daryl?

A cold rock fell to the pit of his stomach, and his gaze immediately turned to the hunter. Had... had he _told_  Negan about them? Of all the people to tell, he tells the leader of their enemy?! Was he that angry at him for calling off their relationship because there were much more important things to focus on?

His gaze narrowed at the hunter who just managed to glance up at him through the corner of his eyes, even though his face was still bruised and punished and it made it difficult to actually see his eyes from this angle.

"I don't... see how any of that would be needed." His voice was a bit more curt than he had initially wished, but it was obvious that he had to pick up the pieces and cover up any weakness Daryl may have revealed. Could it be possible that this was even an act that Negan was orchastraying, trying to use Daryl to make Rick give in and give more to him?

 _"Not needed?_  Are you shitting me right now, Rick?"

The voice sounded surprised, hitting a bit of a higher note than anticipated, and Negan's eyes had stretched wide. He couldn't tell if it was an act or not but there seemed to be something upsetting him.

He tightened his hand on the handle of Lucille, darting his gaze from Daryl to Negan, the ice growing in his stomach. There was something he wasn't getting. "I-I know it's the South and everything... But I hadn't thought that him being... attracted to..."

His awkward words were broken off by the laugh that came booming from Negan. The larger man was nearly doubled over with laughter, but the kind that made chills run up his spine. What the hell was so funny?

"Oh... My... God. You cannot be shitting me! You're not shitting me, are you!" Negan cackled as he crossed the living room, still laughing loudly to the point that he feared the pictures would fall off the walls. Soon he stood right beside Daryl who visibly shrank at the presence, and clapped his shoulder hard a few times. It almost pulled the hunter off balance.

"Daryl, you... You never told him? You didn't tell loverboy anything about this, did you? _Damn_ , that's fucking great!" Negan's gaze snapped from the hunter to Rick again with his words, motioning towards the sheriff who only became more flustered.

"Told me what?!"

"No, no, you... You gotta give me a moment, let me soak this shit in."

Taking in a deep breath that puffed out his chest, Negan stood back up straight with his wicked grin, staring directly into Rick's eyes with a gaze that felt like acid. All the while the sheriff could feel himself getting more and more aggitated. What could be so important that Negan was making an entire show out of telling him?

Did Daryl say something about their relationship? But it couldn't have been _just_  that, not when it seemed like Negan already knew. But... Rick for the life of him couldn't even begin to think of what it could be if it wasn't their past relations.

"Actually, it's not in my place to tell you the good news. Daryl? Is there something you'd like to tell your loverboy?"

The hunter paled at this remark and made the move to back away, only for Negan to catch him by the back of the shoulders. "Don't worry, honey, I won't let him hurt you," Negan cooed with such gentleness that it nearly made Rick vomit. How _dare_  Negan call Daryl that! His teeth grit tightly together, grinding in building anger.

Daryl seemed just as revolted as he was as he cringed, glaring at Negan for the first time the entire day. Even then, though, he still shrank beside him, as if Daryl was scared.

Then he looked at Rick, and for the first time, he saw something in his eyes. Fear. Dread. Anxiety. Things that he had never seen Daryl express before him, even when they had been fighting to the death. Even when Denise was trying to find the cancer-...

...That's what it was. Daryl was dying.

Denise had told him that it shouldn't be cancer but it _was_.

"No..." Rick croaked out, his body crushed under the realization. His best friend was -dying-. That's why Negan brought him. That's why he looked so awful. He was getting worse and he had brought Daryl back to _die!_

Daryl's cracked lips opened just slightly, as if he was preparing to tell Rick himself how much time he had left, but the words were lodged into his throat. There were no tears in the hunter, he never was one to cry. Not when it was his own life and no one else's. All Rick could do was stare into those broken eyes and feel his own flood with tears.

"...He-... He can't be-" he choked out the words, looking behind Daryl to Negan who was a mere foot behind him. But that smug look was starting to fade from his face. What, did he expect Rick to be _happy_  that Daryl was dying? Or happy to know that he was giving the hunter back to _die_  because he didn't want a sick man with him?

"Wait, hold on a sec. I don't think we're on the same page." It was probably the most human he had heard Negan speak, actual confusion in his voice and it being in a low rumble. The sarcasm and snark was banished from his voice, and actual seriousness replacing it. "...Rick, he ain't dying."

"How could he _not!?"_

Unable to hold himself back any longer, he took the few steps closer and pulled his hands to Daryl's face, carefully touching his cheeks. Before Negan had made certain that he would be nowhere close to his friend, but if he was dying... He would take a blow from Lucille if it meant he could be there in Daryl's time of need.

The hunter flinched as he touched the bruises that were still thick under his hands, but he tried to be gentle. He cradled his face within his hands and forced him to look back at the sheriff, even as tears were starting to crawl down Rick's cheeks. After all this time, Daryl was going to die because of _cancer_.

"Daryl, no...!" Rick nearly sobbed, trying to hold back the tears. All composure was being sucked away from him, to know that the man he loved dearly, his brother... It didn't matter if Negan knew their dirty past, all he could think about was that his Daryl was dying.

Daryl tried to pull himself away from Rick's hands, even as it was emotionally painful to pull away from his touch, but he was trying to say something. He had been forbidden to speak all this time since he had been at Alexandria, but maybe he was here to say good-bye.

Maybe it was worse than he thought. Did he even have a week left? Would he only have a few hours with Daryl until he withered away? Would he-

"'M... 'm not dyin'."

What...?

Silence took over the sheriff as Daryl licked his lips slowly, trying to lick away the blood that started to leak through the cracks and split. He shivered within his hands as he took in a deep breath, before looking deep within his eyes, finally able to meet them.

"I... ain't got cancer."

"I don't... How could you not-..."

None of this was makng sense. Denise had _told_  him that he had cancer, but then said he didn't. But then why would Daryl be here? Why would Negan be giving Daryl back to him?

"Oh... Oh, shit, you thought he... No, no we figured that out ages ago." Negan's voice came back, not quite as serious as before but with a small level of understanding. That means that they must have reached the same conclusion as he did, but now what?

Negan loudly cleared his throat, as if in an effort to banish the previous conversation, before stepping forward. Once again his hand clasped onto Daryl's shoulder just as harsh as before, giving him a quick shake. "Actually, doc found out what's wrong with our crossbow wielding man- or rather... Daryl, what the hell am I supposed to call you now? _Shemale_?"

Rick blinked. Now he was officially lost.

"Turns out that your buddy here is packing more than a punch. He's got a pair of balls _and_  a pair of ovaries!"

Even more lost.

"And lucky you, you knocked his ass right up!"

...Was he dreaming? Did someone knock him out at this point?

Wide blue eyes blinked as they turned from Negan to Daryl, then back to Negan. His grin was just as wide with an evil glint in his eyes, enjoying the position that he had thrust upon the sheriff. There had to be a punchline he wasn't getting. Negan of all people was trying to tell him that Daryl, probably the manliest of all of them, was not only a... shemale, but also...

Pregnant?

His hands fell away from Daryl's face, falling to his sides. Rick was waiting for someone to say that this was a pathetic joke. But no one was talking.

"...Have you all lost your _minds_?" he muttered under his breath, wiping away the tears that had slipped down his cheeks. God, he felt like an idiot! If this was a way to soften the blow to Daryl dying then it was disgusting.

"I know it was hard to believe for me too, but I got proof. How about I take you back to our little Sanctuary and our doc can-"

"Do you think I'm a moron?!"

Cutting off Negan was not the right move to make, not when he seemed to be offput by the action. His brows furrowed at him, tightening his hand on Daryl's shoulder, and he seemed to be about to rightfully scold the sheriff for being out of line, but no. Rick wasn't going to stand to be humiliated in his own home.

"You have already taken away my weapons and my friends. We are out there scavenging for you. That does not mean I am a fool, and for you to think that you can trick me with _this_?"

"Rick, I don't much like your tone-"

" _No_. You listen to me!"

He took a step back from the two men that stood before him, his eyes narrowed and his teeth snapped together. How dare they take him for an idiot. Even with the apocalypse upon them, they still think they can make the impossible happen?

"You come into my house, my town, and you have the guts to use him to lure me out? Whatever stories he's been singin' to you, they ain't true."

Negan was quiet this time, though probably not because he was respecting Rick's opportunity to speak. If anything, it was just to collect more information from this moment of the sheriff growing a spine to speak back to him.

All he knew was that he could not look back at Daryl. He couldn't look into those blue eyes that would be so hurt and broken, to know that Rick was throwing away everything they were... But he didn't understand that Rick was trying to _save_  him. If Negan knew that Daryl was gay, there would be _horrible_  things done to him!

"I got a family here. I ain't leaving to go to your damn Sanctuary. I ain't falling for this."

"Rick, I don't think you realize what you're saying." Negan's voice was softer this time, holding a tone of warning. But fuck the warning, he had about enough of Negan manipulating him. This was one thing that wasn't going to work. They were not going to lure him away to trap him.

Huffing at the two, he turned away. This was ridiculous. Was Daryl working with Negan for this? Had Daryl been tricked so easily? He seemed to be going along with all of this, was all of this just a selfish _lie_  so that he wouldn't be alone?

"...I thought you were better than this, Daryl. Guess I was wrong."

He didn't turn around. Didn't need to. If this was what Daryl was amounting their relationship, a cheap way to make Rick come back with him, after what he did to Glenn-...

...No, he just... He needed some air. Needed some time. Needed to think. The steps to the door were heavy and unfollowed, and the door created the barrier between himself and Daryl.

\---

Those blue eyes were haunting even after they had driven away. They burned into his mind even hours later, after talking to Michonne. The things he said... And he had even tried to backtrack and ask for the hunter to stay... He didn't deserve Daryl, not right now.

His boots clicked against the tile floor of the infirmary, rubbing his temple. Judith was running a fever again... And the Saviors had taken so much already... He had looked through the remnants of their fever medicine, but none of it was for toddlers. They were going to have to just watch it.

Tossing a bottle back into the disturbingly empty container of medicine, he gave a loud sigh. Everything was going to be harder now with no weapons. They at least still have their food... For now.

Perhaps Denise had hid some medicine in her cabinets.

Rick had seen her go through it numerous times for files and notes that she held, but there had to be more inside. Maybe she had some tips on how to lower the fever with whatever they could find.

The filing cabinet hadn't been touched ever since she had been killed. Actually, almost nothing in this room had been touched. Someone would wander in every now and then, but everything was starting to collect dust. They now had no doctor. Olivia was attempting to fill the role but it wasn't the same...

Sighing to himself, he pulled open the bottom cabinet and started to rifle through the files. There were a few new files inside from when they had fought off the horde of zombies, one of them being Carl. Judith's file was starting to get filled because there had been check-ups Rick had been sure she would keep.

There was Michonne, himself, Daryl...

...Daryl.

His fingers hovered over the file with his name scrawled on the top tab with just a few pages inside of it. There were still notes of when he had been stabbed in the back by those cyclists, he had gotten an infection. Daryl had been in a lot of pain yet he still hadn't been willing to go to the nurse.

The damn guy was scared of needles. Daryl, of all people, hated needles.

He managed to huff a chuckle as he slid out the file, flipping it open. There was the profile information. His age, he didn't say. Of course he didn't. The guy didn't know his own birthday. Height, a little under six foot, weight, a rough estimate... Sex, ma-

...it was scratched out.

Denise had... scratched out the gender. What on earth could have possibly made her do that.

He stood up slowly with the file, his eyes narrowed as he tried to read the rushed writing that had been scribbled in beside it. Hermap... o...

Hermaphrodite.

That was when the small picture slipped out from underneath the page, fluttering down to the tile floor. It was black and white and shiny, but landed facedown. Oh god, no.

Don't let it be true.

Trembling fingers were no longer controlled by himself as he leaned down, grasping onto the corner of the picture that measured about 4x6. It was so small... And as he carefully flipped the image... There it was.

It was small. Tiny. A speck within walls of gray and black. It was round and didn't look like much of anything. But it was circled in red marker and Denise had written down Daryl's name and the date right below.

_Daryl Dixon_   
_8/21/13_   
_.02 inches_   
_Approx. 4 weeks_

...Four weeks. Back when they... Before they found Jesus... Before they found the truck. They had gone out to...

Tears slowly slipped down his cheeks as his body trembled. He had just told Daryl that he was lying. That it was a trick, but how could he expect Rick to believe that he-...

But now he was with the Saviors. Alone. And he wasn't with him.

His legs crumpled beneath him as tears fell onto the photo, as if trying to blur out the truth. But he couldn't deny it anymore. He just sent Daryl away when he needed Rick most, and had all but spat in his face.

Soft sobs echoed off of the infirmary walls, further encasing him within his own horrid thoughts. But there was nothing he could do.

Daryl... What did I  _do_ to you?!


	10. Ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan is tired of watching the hunter fall apart. Something has to be done.

Now, Negan wasn't one to proclaim he had that big of a heart, nor was he one to care for other people's feelings. But what he had just seen...

That was fucked up. Even for him.

The _fucking nerve_ of that asshole, Rick. Thinking he could take all that shit back and beg him for Daryl back. He actually wanted Daryl to talk to Rick. Tell him how much of a fucking scumbag Rick was to him. Negan may have even let Daryl stay just to see him tear the living shit out of Rick.

But instead now he's staring at a man that looked as if his vital organs had been stripped other than his lungs, brain and heart, and he was simply waiting to die.

The very fact that Daryl had collapsed halfway to the cell, which he had overheard because Fat Joey complained to high hell that he had to carry his ass, told much more than Daryl could have ever said. He had been feeding Daryl nothing but _shit_ for the past few weeks, and he still socked his men in the face.

And now he couldn't even walk more than a few feet without the world slipping out from underneath him.

It was why Negan had taken away the boombox from outside the cell, and told Dwight to make Daryl something to eat, something not shit. Even told Dwight to give the man a blanket. Dwight stared at him as if he had grown a second head, but fuck it. It seemed like Negan was having to take up the responsibility of a half dead man and a dying baby inside of him.

Which was why he was going to need to soften Daryl up to his plan.

He had called Emmett down to the cell to check up on Daryl, and judging by the paleness on his face, it must be worse than he initially thought. So they ended up taking Daryl to the infirmary to keep a closer eye on him. Last thing they needed was him dying and attacking Dwight when he came to bring him something to eat.

Which was what led to this. Negan once again pacing in his room, Emmett sitting on a chair close to the door, and his face in a deep set frown.

"He's not going to make it much longer if he doesn't eat. I can't just pop in an IV and everything will be fine. He needs vitamins, proteins, _anything_!"

"Well make him fucking eat!"

"I _can't_. He _won't."_ Emmett's voice was tight with exhaustion and fustration, mirroring Negan's own feelings. They had been running in circles for the past hours, Negan literally to the point that he feared he would start leaving treads in his carpet.

If he knew that Daryl was going to be this much fucking trouble, he would have left the damn archer there! He probably would have bled out, but then none of the blood would be on his own hands!

Growling softly, he rubbed his temple to try to fend away the growing headache. "Well I can't just fucking let him die," Negan grumbled, reigning in his own frustrations as much as he could.

God, he wished he could just not care. Just put him out working the fence like he had been doing before this whole trip to Alexandria. But now everything was a shit ton more complicated.

Silence commanded the room as he turned on his heels and paced a little bit more, trying to find any conclusion that he could other than the one that continued whispering into the back of his mind. The entire reason that Daryl was acting like this was because of Rick, so he assumed. Because at least Daryl had some fucking fight before all this.

He couldn't get rid of Rick. ...But he could get rid of the remnants of him.

"You gotta fucking do it," he grunted, looking at Emmett from the corner of his eyes. The doctor flinched immediately, but said nothing. They both knew what that meant, but neither wanted to do it. "If he's on his way out, then he'll die anyway, but at least this gives him a _chance_. The thing is eating him alive!"

"I can't just abort it, not if he doesn't want me to," Emmett sourly replied, glancing away. That was the present issue. Convincing Daryl that the child he was protecting had to go bye-bye wasn't going to be easy, and chances are, he would never agree. Even if Negan sat there and pampered the man entirely, he may never give in.

The man had the thickest skull he's ever seen, and that's including himself. At least Negan can see someone's dying because of a stupid ass decision.

"I don't care if you have to fucking lie and tell him that it's an aspirin, but either it's gonna go and rot him on the inside out or he's going on the fence."

The words sent a cold shiver down his own spine, bile running in the back of his throat. He knew more than he cared to admit about the effects of losing a child, but it would at least allow Daryl to live. And if he wanted a kid so fucking bad, then-

...Oh. That could work.

Negan stopped halfway through another pace, the thought leeching into his mind. He had played with the idea before, but it had been damn ridiculous at the time. Why would Daryl of all people relent to that?

Unless he played his cards just right...

"...Bring him here."

"Sir, he can barely-"

"I said bring him here."

* * *

"...Did you really expect for it to go any other way?"

Negan only grunted, glancing at his reflection where the thick purpling bruise was beginning to surface on his jaw. The man could throw a punch even when halfway dead, he had to give him that.

Dwight carefully handed over the ice tucked inside a rag, which Negan soon nursed away at his bruise. The last thing he needed was for it to swell up and make his men look weak... Especially if they found out that it came from Daryl of all people.

His deputy had only just come back after all but dragging Daryl back to the infirmary, surprisingly with the archer fighting him with everything he had left in his body. Negan probably could have chosen his words a bit more carefully, as the dictator-like approach did nothing but worsen the situation.

Even threatening to take away his food and any other type of comfort did not phase Daryl... Probably because he had already accepted his death. If anything, the hunter would make sure that he would create as much damage to Negan as he could before finally croaking.

"...Did you try, I dunno, _not_ saying that 'the brat had to go'?"

The fact that Dwight even thought he was allowed to speak to him this way made a growl of warning rise up his throat, but the wince of pressing against his bruise knocked down the aggression.

There was no way he was getting soft... It was just a... delicate situation.

"Dwight, when I ask for your remarks, I'll sure as fuck let you know," Negan merely grunted, finally turning away from the bathroom mirror. It was enough to quiet the man, especially as he knew Dwight was keeping a keen eye on Lucille still within his other hand.

There had been a point in time that he suspected Daryl would have made a lunge for the weapon, even as he could barely stand. God the kid looked awful, and Negan didn't need Emmett to tell him that they didn't have much time.

"...Why the fuck do I even need his permission anyway. I own him," Negan huffed to himself as he walked his way back to his bed before sitting onto the edge. Already he knew the answer... He couldn't deny that everything changed when he learned about his... 'disorder.' Last thing he wanted to be responsible for was the death of a kid.

They didn't have kids in the compound. Well, ones that weren't on their way to getting born. Kids were a rarity, much like women. Eventually someone had to be the future for this rotten world of theirs, and if he could mold them to his own image...

Hell, he'd have his own little army in no time.

Dwight thankfully said nothing, taking the warning to heart like he should.

"...I know what I gotta do, but it's gonna _suck_."

Suck was the softest word Negan could think of, and the only one at the time. It would suck to know he was responsible for killing an innocent thing, and it also sucked that he was doing someone a favor and keeping them alive. Negan didn't do favors.

But if Daryl lived, then that meant that it was another body, another soldier... And if he could mold Daryl from the recent experience with Rick...

Damn would that be terrifying.

Negan casually placed Lucille onto the bed, rolling her to make sure that he took a look at all her splendor. Every barb was cleaned to perfection, even though she was unfortunately becoming stained deep within the wood no matter how many times he pampered her, practically made love to her.

"...I'll have doc do it tomorrow. Maybe he'll come to his senses after he sleeps on it."

He heard Dwight grunt, but by the time he looked up to him, he had managed to cover up whatever emotion he cared to take. It was unanimous that no one wanted to do what had to be done, but at least he wouldn't have to physically partake.

Maybe it would just be some pills or something. Then they'd have to put him back in the cell and wait. Hell, he didn't know how long it was supposed to take... All he knew was that it had to be done.

"...I got nothing left to tell you, get your ass out. Make sure you get him something to eat." With a flick of his hand, his quiet words dismissed his deputy. Negan glanced to the other side of the room, looking to nothing in particular as he waited for the door to be opened then shut again.

Only after that did he give a loud sigh, and pull himself up from the bed.

He needed a drink.

* * *

Next time they went to Alexandria or Hilltop, he was going to request more books. Especially if he was going to have to babysit his patients more and more.

Granted the bench that they had situated Daryl onto wasn't very comfortable, but it was surely better than the floor. With a pillow and blanket, it made it more managable. That and the actual clean water and real food that didn't come from a dog food can should be helping.

Should.

His eyes flicked to the huddled mass on the bench, laying on his side and curled deep into the blanket. Daryl had a slight fever, but that was the least of their concerns. Unless something suddenly makes Daryl perk up and help him start eating again, he would be gone by the end of the week.

Setting down the book he had read at least twice already, he rolled his chair to the other side of the bench to face him. Surprisingly, the blue eyes were open, as he had been sure Daryl would have been too exhausted to stay awake much longer.

"...Did you want to try the soup again?" Emmett calmly asked, his eyes holding Daryl's quivering gaze. He barely allowed any hope to blossom, as this was the third time within the hour that he had tried to tempt him with food, but this time he was met with hesitant silence.

Daryl was thinking about it, and after a few more moments, he was given a grunt. That was close enough to a yes for him.

The hunter was already starting the slow process of sitting up on the bench by the time that the doctor had snatched the bowl of soup. It had grown cold by this point, actually a long time ago, but Daryl didn't seem to mind.

Handing the bowl to the hunter, he tried to ignore the loud groaning of Daryl's stomach. Emmett was sure that whatever they had been previously doing to the hunter had screwed up his system. His basic nutrition was near non existant, and it was basically trying to scoop quicksand out of a hole. The damage would keep pulling Daryl back under.

"I have some more pills for you to try with the pain," he quietly added, though scooted his chair back a few feet to give the hunter room. The man still acted almost feral, curling up around the soup as if it would be taken away from him in just a moment. If it wasn't for his condition, it probably would have.

But the hunter was behaving for him, even though Dwight had already told him about his behavior with Negan. That alone should have gotten Lucille to finally connect with his skull, but Daryl returned in one piece. It had certainly taken out his strength, though.

He could see it in the way his hand trembled as he picked up the spoon, nearly spilling out half of the contents before it could reach his lips. His shoulders were slouched, somehow making him look even smaller with how much weight had been falling off of him.

Even from the first time he met Daryl, after spending a near week in that cell with no medical attention, he could visually see the difference. His ribs near split out of his skin, and he could count nearly every vertebre in his spine. His hips were bony and his legs were growing thin. Even his arms, as thick and strong as they were, were starting to drip off weight.

It was amazing he was still able to move at this point. Maybe there was still some fight left in him.

Pleased to see the hunter still eating the soup past the first few mouthfuls, Emmett finally stood himself up from his chair. "I should leave you to rest. I'll come back in about an hour to see how you're doing," he chirped, feinging some sort of enthusiasm, even though they both knew that the chances of Daryl finding sleep was slim to none.

Not with the nighmares...

Though just as he gathered up his book and turned to leave the infirmary, a grunt caught his attention. Glancing back, he couldn't help but notice that Daryl was still hunched over his soup, but turned his head just enough to glance back at him. He paused in his steps, an obvious attempt for Daryl to say whatever he needed to say.

"...Doc," Daryl rasped, letting the spoon slide down into the soup. His blue eyes were dull but filled with seriousness, something that Daryl didn't often have. It was usually some form of anger or agitation, even when it was only them in the room.

"Yes?" Emmett chimed, setting down his book on the counter before stepping closer. He could feel the hairs on the back of his head beginning to prick up at this point, since Daryl almost never talked. Whatever it was, it had to be important.

Daryl swallowed, hard to the point that his adams apple bobbed. His hands tightened around the bowl, and he nervously licked his lips. "...You know he... that he..."

Know that Negan wanted to abort the baby. Even now the thought drove a twisting knife into his stomach, churning and digging out whatever it could find. The duty would fall onto him, but there was no way for him to be able to refuse.

If he disobeyed an order from Negan, chances are that he would be punished by the iron at the very least. If he was punished, he wouldn't be able to tend to Daryl, and the hunter would quickly die.

It was starting to turn into a situation where it was trying to save one life or keep two living, and the odds weren't good.

He gave a nod, and it was all that Daryl needed as his eyes dropped down to the bowl. He cleared his throat, fingers tensing, and once again licked his lips.

"...I..."

A pause. A decision being made. The knife hooked deeper into his stomach.

"...I need yah to... to help me... with... something."


	11. Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl's body finally gives in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes miscarriage.

There was still so much work to do.

Making sure that the gates would be staying up was a problem Negan had been hoping to put off for another week or so, but the amount of walker flesh that was clinging to the metal and sagging against it, peeling off the body and sticking to the metal, was starting to weigh it down.

It would take time to completely rebuild the fence... But they had to ensure that they would be prepared at all time for an attack. Even if Rick was the biggest dick on their ruined planet, Negan wouldn't put it past the man to try to launch an attack before they would come for their weekly drop off.

Especially while he would be gone to pick up the load...

"How about we put another wall of fencing out first, then once that's done, destroy the old fence?"

"We're just gonna have to rinse and repeat if the walkers keep rotting on them. And it'll be a pain in the ass to move the walkers."

"Then how about we keep them off the fence and keep them on a chain like a dog?"

"And run them ragged and rot twice as fast?"

Did he really have to be here for this shit? Negan scrubbed his hand over his face slowly, trying to force back a groan. All this arguing was just a waste of time and the Georgia heat was only making this discussion more miserable. But it needed to be figured out now, as the walkers were practically dripping off of the fence.

Any solution had to be ran by him anyway, so may as well sever the middleman... Plus, any time spent away from the doctor's office or any reminder of that situation would help keep his mind clear.

Unless of course the situation came running to him.

_"Negan!"_

The shout of the leader's name became louder than an artillary blast across the yard where walker groans and soft discussion were the only present sounds. Negan's shoulders squared up and stiffened in moments, and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.

It was Dwight, and by the sound of his voice, this was not going to be a pleasant message.

The chatter of his men stopped immediately, turning to look at the man that was racing towards them. Negan could hear the slight pant, which itself only chilled his blood. Dwight must have ran through the entire compound to be out of breath like this, and as he turned to look back, he felt his heart nearly stop.

Dwight was pale, eyes wide. He practically stumbled to a stop, but seemed about ready to spring back into a sprint at any moment. But what caught Negan's attention was his hands quivering at his sides.

Or more importantly, the blood.

"N-Negan, it's Daryl. I was getting him something to eat," the words stumbled out of his mouth, nearly slurring into a soup of syllables, "but when I came back, he was bleedin' fucking awful. I got the doc but he told me to come get you-"

Dwight was nearly shoved to the ground in an effort to clear the path back to the inside of the compound. Any other words he attempted to spew out were lost upon the larger man as he barreled through the door, nearly smashing it back against the wall.

All he could think was that this couldn't be the way that this ended. After all the medical supplies they wasted on Daryl, weeks of trying to scrape together his health, he couldn't lose the opportunity that would only be once in a lifetime.

People practically pressed themselves against the stone walls to avoid Negan's wrath, and it was probably only by the blessing of God that he didn't have Lucille to bash in those that did get within his path.

By the time he had finally come to the half-open door, he was faintly aware of Dwight still running behind him, babbling out shit he didn't even consider acknowledging. Because all he could focus on was what lied at the other side of that door.

He almost wished he never opened it.

As soon as his eyes adjusted to the blaring white of the doctor's lights, every paticle of his body turned to stone. Even Dwight nearly colliding into his side didn't make him budge.

Because all he could think, see, and understand was the blood.

It was still wet and shiny on the bench where Daryl usually rested, before becoming a trail across the tile. It turned frantic, droplets scattered around small puddles of it, then there were smears. There was a few clear impressions of handprints against the tile, others grabbing onto random counters for support.

All these trails turned into thick smears, no longer just pooling or dripping, until they led across the room to the far corner. Only then did he see the huddled form of a man pressing himself deep agains the walls as if they would swallow him whole if he tried hard enough. The thick, brown blanket he had snatched was covered with bloodstains from his hands, glistening in the harsh light.

The same blanket was now wrapped tight around his trembling form, as if an attempt to hide from the truth laid spread across the tiles. Emmett was knelt beside him, his white robe also marked with the fresh blood in handprints and smears. His hands were against his shoulders and cheek, a failing attempt to help sooth him.

But there will be nothing to sooth him.

Not as Negan's eyes flicked across the room, drenching himself in the sight of the blood all over the shrinking room, the tile floor, the sink, the porcelain shower, and all over her hands, desperately trying to cling to her light at the end of the tunnel that was swallowing them both up, her life slipping away from him like the blood down the drain...!

Then Negan blinked, and the bathroom fled away, and all that remained was the doctor's office. The breath so painfully held in his lungs was forced back out, and the hand grasped onto the doorframe was relaxed just enough to release the iron grip.

He was careful to avoid the pooling blood on the floor that had not yet been given the chance to dry, working his way around shoved counters and tools that had been knocked off a couple trays. His eyes were now avoiding the shaking form, trying his best to block out the quiet sobs that just muffled through the blanket. Instead he focused himself directly to the doctor, for only he would be useful in this situation.

"...What do you need," were the crisp words, as close to unfeeling as he could attempt. He just needed to be focused on what to do next, what would be needed. They would need to clean up the office before anyone else came in, as no one outside of the current occupants of the room even knew of Daryl's condition or... what had become of it.

Emmett only glanced up to him from the corner of his eyes, uncertaintly within them for probably the first time. But they didn't have time for him to be questioning his own judgement, or on the fact that Negan may be the last person Daryl would be willing to be handled by. Both of them knew Emmett would not be able to handle Daryl by himself in this state, uncooperative at best and inconsolable at worst.

Turning his gaze back to Daryl, Emmett let out a soft sigh. "...I need to get him cleaned up. Need to replenish his blood. Going to need to get him to eat, get some water... If there are any remnants, I may need to give him medications..."

By the time that Emmett had finished his statement, Negan was already leaning down. It was as if picking up a skunk, not wanting to get as close as he physically had to, but there was no one else here that could manage Daryl's weight or keep him secured in case of a struggle. But as soon as his hands touched Daryl's back and tried to hook beneath his legs to lift him up, he already knew that Daryl would not be able to put up much of a fight.

Not as the hunter clawed his fingers into the blanket, a choked cry of pain escaping him, which by itself was startling. Daryl was strong, barely giving much more than a grunt to being punched across the face or any other pains he had forced upon him. Now he was nearly sobbing, shaking from the pain and every touch only made it that much worse.

But Negan wasn't going to let that stand in his way. Every moment Daryl spent on the floor was another moment that he didn't get medical attention, and could lead to losing Daryl as well. This can't all be for nothing, even if Daryl had no fight left in him.

"N-Negan!" was Emmett's attempt to stop him, reaching up to grasp onto his arm, but a quick glare made him freeze. There would be no questioning his decisions, and he couldn't let everyone sit around and let Daryl grieve. There was work to be done.

The louder cry of pain as Negan lifted Daryl up from the ground was sickening, but he swallowed it down quickly. Blood was already soaked through the blanket, leaving to the warm stains against his shirt, sleeves and arms, but he did not hesitate.

What he did not expect was Daryl to curl up in his grasp, pressing himself up against his chest. Probably some sort of comfort, and Daryl probably didn't even recognize it as him, but he wouldn't complain. Not even as Daryl's blood-covered hand twisted into his shirt, and he could feel his chest heaving with pants and sobs.

Yet Negan would not look down at him, would not recognize his pain as it would soon pass.

Dwight, who was still at the doorway, soon stepped back to hold the door wide open. He was shooing away people who were getting too close, curious to what was so important that would send Negan bursting through the halls, yet they soon cleared for him the moment that they saw the bloody blanket that encased their deathly pale prisoner.

"Emmett."

There was a shuffling behind him, followed by footsteps close behind. Stepping out into the hall, he turned before walking his way down towards his own room. Daryl needed at least some level of privacy, and secrecy was still needed. The last thing he needed was everyone knowing Daryl was a medical freak.

"Clean him off, then tell Dwight what you need. Keep him in the bathroom until he's able to be moved." The orders were crisp and left no room for argument, and Emmett seemed to understand that as he darted forward to open Negan's door. It was one of the few places that had an actual bathroom, even if showering was more like an odd sprinkler system they had created.

It wouldn't be anything like what Daryl had in Alexandria, but he didn't expect Daryl to complain.

By the time that Negan had lowered Daryl into the cold bathtub, blood had saturated the front of his shirt and he was beginning to worry if Daryl would die of bloodloss before they had a chance to help him recover.

He opened his mouth, but then changed his mind. Emmett would take care of it. Make sure that Daryl would be in working order. If he didn't... Well, then that just wouldn't be acceptable.

"...Take as much time as he needs. Want him healthy."

Emmett only responsed with a nod, already starting to work his way into the bathroom and start unwrapping Daryl from the blanket he had tangled himself into. The rest of this Negan didn't need to see. Daryl wouldn't fight against him, so Negan would not be needed to hold him still.

It was without another word that he stepped out of the bathroom and closed the door behind him, already shedding off his ruined shirt. There was still work to be done, and after all of this was through, it would only be for the best.

After all, this was what Negan had planned to do in the first place. Daryl's body just didn't have to force him to be the cause.


	12. Rewards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All it took was a few sweet words and the promise of protection. Daryl was putty in his hands, and Negan began to work.

All Negan had to say that after all these damn supplies and time he used on Daryl, he better be worth it at the end.

After the ‘incident,’ Daryl got to recover in a secluded off corner of the doctor’s office. It wasn’t much, a mattress on the ground surrounded by a curtain, but it helped make sure his presence wasn’t constantly seen. Then Emmett could keep an eye on him, too. Negan still couldn’t begin to know how Emmett got Daryl back on his feet, nor did he care. All he needed were the results.

And those results were damn beautiful, if Negan said so himself.

Daryl was a new man. Or, half man. Whatever. He may be back to glaring, but he was more subdued. Like a beaten dog that had found a new home. Could mean that Negan was on some track to forgiveness, but he didn’t really care. All that mattered was that he was getting what he wanted. And for that to happen, Negan had to play nice.

Well, apparently nicer than before.

While Daryl wasn’t allowed to come along for pick-ups, especially for Alexandria anymore, Negan often asked if he needed something. Something from home. A blanket, a book, a dildo, anything to make him more comfortable. Daryl just stared with those blank eyes. So that didn’t work.

Next was the little walks he let Daryl have. Even gave him normal clothes instead of those sweatsuits just to make him more comfortable. While Daryl was never allowed out of Negan’s sight, the fresh air was good for him. But Daryl also knew that these weren’t just presents. Negan needed something in return for his goodwill and treats. And within the second week after Daryl started bouncing back, Negan sat him down in his room.

The damn guy could have at least said something. It made the whole situation more awkward than it needed to be, but it let Negan cut it short.

It was a pretty simple deal. Daryl keeps getting good things, let outside, have a little leash, and he just gets promoted to wife. Kinda. He just had to fulfill his end of the bargain and make little Negans.

Negan hadn’t expected Daryl to agree, or rather not disagree, which was good enough for him. Maybe all it took was Daryl losing all physical attachment to Rick to break him. It made Negan feel pretty good about his efforts, how clean it all was. He didn’t even have to force Daryl to agree with his demands or bend his own rules. It was almost… Too easy.

That same night, Negan sent Daryl off to Emmett’s office once more, and just a few hours later, got his results. Emmett said Daryl was ready. Or, his body was. Something about increased fertility, or whatever, but didn’t matter. All he had to do was jerk off a bit, give it to the doc to deal with, and boom. Results.

All he needed was to make sure Daryl didn’t do stupid shit now that he was pregnant again, with those results coming in just the next week. Emmett had thrown around a shit ton of reasons and medical terms for how this happened, but all he needed was that positive pregnancy test. Honestly, he’d gotten faster results from Daryl than with any of his wives.

And just because of that, Negan was going to give Daryl an upgrade he probably didn’t deserve. His own room. And this time, not in a stone closet. No, he had a  _ real  _ room, with a  _ real  _ bed just for his troubles. Sure, he had a few upset subordinates that now were crammed up even more than before, but Negan had to use this sudden acceptance to his advantage. Make him forget all about that shit at the beginning.

Things were different now.

Negan twirled his bat in between two fingers as he watched Daryl being led down the hall by Emmett. Since it had been a few days since Negan paid a visit, he could already see Daryl getting a bit stronger, but also unsure. Good. It would have been too easy for Daryl to just fall into his lap. His broad shoulders were stiff, eyes narrowed, but an arm crossed over his torso. Protecting himself.

Giving a grin as soon as Daryl was within arm’s length, he reached over and gave him a few firm pats on the shoulder. “See? Wasn’t so hard. You’re gonna be living like a  _ king  _ in no time.”

Daryl just leveled an uneasy glare at Negan, holding his gaze with some level of defiance. He still had a bit of spine left in him, it seemed like.

Stepping back, Negan pressed his hand to the door and pushed it open. “A little gift. Since you’ve been so good for me.”

The other man stiffened at his words, but Negan paid no mind. Daryl would get use to it, surely. Had to maintain some level of control. Make him realize just where all of these gifts were coming from, and why. Daryl hadn’t disobeyed him yet, so it had to be working.

Still seemed too easy.

Negan held the door open for Daryl, like the gentleman he was, before waving off Emmett. He closed the door securely, and could feel Daryl’s eyes on his hand just in case he tried to lock it without Daryl’s knowledge. He didn’t.

“Got you a bed,” Negan chirped as he pointed to the far corner of the room, “closet,” he pointed to the wall, “and a bathroom.”

Daryl remained silent, because of course he did. He just stood in the center of the room, stiff and feral. His eyes flicked all across the room, like he expected knives to suddenly fly out of the wall, before finally looking back at Negan.

Taking a few steps towards Daryl, and quite pleased that Daryl didn’t move away, Negan met his eyes. “See what happens when you work for me? None of that cell shit for you. Didn’t even have to work the fence. Don’t work for points, either. You got it  _ made.”  _ His grin widening, he slid ever closer, just inches away from Daryl. “Pretty sweet deal. And all you gotta do is,” he paused, his grin starting to grow so wide that it hurt, and reached out his hand, “keep yourself and the little guy safe.”

The moment Negan’s hand even  _ skimmed  _ over Daryl’s flat stomach, barely brushing against his shirt, Daryl swung his fist directly into Negan’s jaw. It sent Negan staggering back to try to stay on his feet, pain exploding through him, but he would be lying if he said it surprised them. Hell, even angered him.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Daryl snarled, with such strength that it made a shudder run down Negan’s spine with glee. He was protecting it. Daryl wasn’t going to be a fucking idiot and try to fuck it up.

Rubbing against his sore jaw, Negan managed to contain as much of his grin as he could. “My mistake,” he chuckled, even as Daryl just scowled in response. Dropping his hand from his reddening jaw, Negan strode over to the door and opened it again. “Make yourself comfortable. Get some rest. And for fucks sake, take a shower.”

Daryl was about to snap back at him, but Negan had already closed the door.

_ Everything  _ was going to plan. It was why Negan would be making sure nothing would be getting in the way of it.

* * *

They wouldn’t tell him where he was. Where he was going. All he knew was the bag that had been wrapped over his head, and the butt of a rifle to the back of his head. And now this.

Dragging. He was being dragged across dirt. No, not dirt. Now it was cement. It pulled on his clothes, and he could feel little pieces of himself scraping against the ground when they would drop him too low.

“Who are you?!” he groaned, panting within the cloth bag that obscured everything but light peaking through some thin strands. “What do you want?”

Nothing. His captors dragged him on. There was a low muttering, a hum of people, but he couldn’t tell where they were coming from. All around. Someone called out in the distance, and one of his captors responded with an affirmative. Then the other said to get ‘him.’ Him. Who was him?

Icy fear clenched up his stomach, and for a moment, he feared he would puke. All he had been doing was standing at his post. That’s it. He didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing.

He was soon dragged across dirt again, and then the voices got closer. Some were asking questions. Others just muttered. Sympathy and pity. They knew what was happening to him, didn’t they? They knew!

“Let me go!” he begged, trying to pull against the rope that bound his wrists behind his back, and the hands that dragged him by his arms. “I didn’t do anything! Let me go! Please!”

More dragging, and then they stopped. A door opened. They dragged him a little farther. Then the door closed. The hum of people was cut off. The lack of sound other than his own panting only made his anxiety rise. No, no, he didn’t want to die this way. Die blind to what was happening to him.

He was dragged for what could have been a few more feet, before he was abruptly sat down onto a chair. No. They started unwrapping the rope around his wrists, but only to tie him down to the chair.

No, he knew what this was.

The footsteps drifted away, and his cries for help came unanswered. Someone. Anyone. He didn’t do anything wrong! He didn’t break the rules! He didn’t want the iron!

“Please, I just want to go home!”

The door opened. Hope fluttered in his chest, and he raised his head towards the sound. Someone was here. Maybe they could help him. Swallowing back bile, he jerked against the chair. “I didn’t do anything, you gotta believe me! I didn’t-”

A sharp punch landed on his cheek, nearly knocking him over with the chair. He was left shivering, forced into silence by the blow even when his mind was racing. No, this wasn’t the iron. This was something worse.

Suddenly, light flooded his vision as the bag was pulled away, and he found himself staring into piercing blue eyes. Taking in a shuddering breath, he tried to look away, and frantically twisted his head to search for an escape. Stone walls. All around him. A bar door. But he was alone.

Alone with that man with the ice blue eyes.

“Please, sir, I didn’t-”

His hand grabbed hard onto his jaw, squeezing it to the point that he feared his jaw would snap in half. The man yanked his face up, forcing him to look into those eyes. Eyes so cold that it made his stomach twist with dread.

“Tell me where he is.”

“I-I don’t know who-”

His head was jerked to the side, only for the man’s fist to drive straight into his stomach. His entire body jerked in the chair, his breath a sudden gasp, before the delirious pain, panic and the punch finally made him vomit onto his own lap.

Coughing, he was only barely aware of the other man letting out low swears, and all he could do was cry softly. “I don’t know what you want. I didn’t take anyone, please, let me go!”

But then the hand grabbed onto his chin again, and yanked his head up once more. Those cold eyes drilled into him, and with cold realization, he saw no remorse. No empathy. Just cold.

“Where is he?!”

Another punch. To his stomach.

“Tell me!”

One more. This time to his chest. His lung burned as he tried to suck in a breath, but the air escaped him.

_ “Tell me!” _


End file.
